Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts
by foreverHenry919
Summary: darklyndsea published the first of five chapters of a truly entertaining fic entitled "Stopped Clock" on 02/13/2015 on A O 3. Original Summary: "Even a stopped clock is right twice a day. When Lucas is that stopped clock, Henry will do anything to protect Abe, even if it means revealing his immortality." Hope I do it justice, hope you all like it. Here goes.
1. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 1

Jo and Hanson left Lt. Reece's office and headed toward the interview room to question the ten-year-old boy named Abe Morgan, whom Henry claimed was - his son. His ... son. Admittedly, she would have had no problem believing that part of his tale if he had not woven so many other implausible parts into it. He was born in 1779; he was immortal since his first death in 1814. First? Death? Oh, and had adopted Abe as a baby in the mid-1940's. He and his _wife_. His _second_ wife. When, according to his crazy sounding timeline of events, he would have been at least 166 years old! To make matters worse, he professed to believe Lucas' Outer Limits theory that Abe had been de-aged to a ten-year-old, along with a few others, by some mad scientist. The whole thing caused her to now question Henry's sanity. Her quirky friend losing his mind? It broke her heart to give a second of thought to that possibility. While Hanson walked alongside her and grumbled something about both Henry and Lucas being crack minded from having breathed in too much formaldehyde or something, and if this was some kind of stupid joke, he was going to wring their necks - Henry's fantastical words rang in her ears.

 _"You already think me mad; I doubt there's anything I could say to convince you otherwise. But Abe is, at the least, an outside perspective. If you can't believe my words, ask him what he thinks the date is. Ask how he was adopted. Ask his address—I believe the_ unis _have already verified that it's been turned into an office building. You're detectives, I'm sure you can come up with a way to verify Lucas' theory or my age."_

Just as they reached the door of the interview room, Hanson placed his hand on the doorknob and turned to Jo. "This is a big waste of time, Jo," he groaned out in a whisper. "Henry's finally popped his cork, that's all. And Lucas? His other suit has been a straight jacket for a long time." He shook his head, his eyebrows twinged up, wrinkling his forehead. "I don't like spinning my wheels like this."

"Lieu says to interview the boy, Abe," she quietly reminded him, "and that's what we're gonna do." He heaved out a sigh and shook his head. "We question him in order to either prove or disprove what Henry told us," she calmly continued and watched him closely as he nodded in reluctant agreement. "Process of elimination," she told him and tapped his shoulder with her notepad. "Afterwards, we can investigate more normal theories to find out where and to whom these kids really belong." He nodded again, they both drew in a breath, and he pulled the door open, allowing her to enter first.

Abe, a blonde, blue-eyed girl named Sally, and an African-American boy named Jeffrey, sat solemnly with their hands folded in front of them on the table as if at prayer in Sunday school. At first glance, they appeared to look no different from any other kid walking around the city. But closer scrutiny revealed that their clothing and hairstyles were from a different era, more like the 1950's or early 1960's. Whoever dressed them, she thought, was obviously a huge fan of the "Back to the Future" movies or had watched too many early "Leave It to Beaver" reruns. At any rate, they were still children and both she and Hanson had to tread lightly with them. Besides, they appeared to be the victims either of abandonment or some cruel joke. After a moment's hesitation, she and Hanson seated themselves on the other side of the table, facing them. Since Abe was their target, she pondered how best to isolate him from the other two children without upsetting or alarming any of them. However, Jeffrey solved the problem for her.

He raised his hand timidly and said, "I have to go to the lavatory." Hmmm, she thought to herself, that was what many people called school restrooms decades ago.

"Me, too," Sally said.

She eyed Abe but he shook his head. "I already went." She instructed the male uni to accompany Jeffrey to the restroom and for him to get a female uni to take charge of Sally. After that, she further instructed them, the two were to be taken to the conference room that had recently been converted into a playroom to temporarily house child victims of crime or children of those arrested until they could be released to either a family member or Child Protective Services. Once they'd left the room, she turned her attention back to young Abe.

 _"... ask him what he thinks the date is..."_

"Abe, uh, you're how old?" She chose a different route to get to what year he thought it was.

"I told you guys a hundred times already, ten!" he scowled and shoved his fist against his cheek.

"Calm down, okay," Hanson said, patting a hand at him, "we just wanna make sure we got all the facts straight." He looked over at Jo for her to continue. Being the father of two rambunctious boys himself who constantly tried his patience and required frequent discipline, he understood all too well how to dig the truth out of an upset child. But he still wasn't buying this BS Henry had thrown at them.

"Okay, ten," Jo replied. "That's great." She bolstered up her smile a bit more and asked, "When and where were you born?"

"August 13, 1944, in Poland. It was in a camp called Auschwitz," he told her matter-of-factly. "Where's my dad?" He looked anxiously toward the door.

She swallowed and her smile faltered a bit. "Don't worry," she said soothingly, placing her hand over his. "He's close by, talking with our boss, Lt. Reece about how best to help you and Jeffrey and Sally." She glanced quickly over at Hanson. He cleared his throat and sat forward a bit in his chair.

 _"...Ask how he was adopted..."_

"Abe, uh, you say that Henry is your father." Abe nodded vigorously. "What's your mother's name?" he continued.

"I don't know," Abe shrugged and lowered his eyes to his still folded hands.

Hanson leaned back in his chair, confused. Jo's brow furrowed a bit and she bent her head down to look into Abe's face.

"You don't know your mother's name? Why is that?" She managed to mask the worry that threatened to creep into her voice. Worry that her unofficial crime-solving partner may have either lied for reasons unknown or had suffered a mental break, as Hanson had suggested.

Abe shifted uncomfortably in his chair and raised his small face to her, a pained expression on it. "Because she died right after I was born. Both of my parents died in Auschwitz." He looked forlornly at them. "The Nazis ran the camp and they were mean to them. At least, that's what I was told. That's what's in the history books. They were mean to everybody in the camp. I never knew my parents' names or what they even looked like. Never knew the name I was born with, either."

Hanson frowned and tilted his head. "But you said that Henry was your father." Jo's heart was beginning to race as she waited for Abe's reply.

"Yeah, he is." He shifted in his seat again and the pained expression gradually left his face. "See, he was a doctor in the war. He and the nurse who found me in the camp fell in love and they decided to adopt me after they couldn't find any other relatives for me." He virtually chirped out the words as his broad grin dimpled his cheeks; his bright, blue eyes sparkled. "They're the only parents I've ever known."

Jo's heart leaped for joy while Hanson rubbed his fingers up and down his forehead trying to ward off a headache - a really **big** headache. As unbelievable as Henry's story sounded, young Abe had apparently just corroborated it. But they had to be sure.

"And the name of the nurse who found you in the camp?" Hanson asked.

"Oh. Abigail," Abe proudly replied. "She's real pretty. Mom and Dad are neat parents, too. They're both British," he proudly chirped again.

"Abe, you do know what year this is, right?" Jo asked.

"Sure. 1955. I turn 11 this year." He lowered his eyes to his hands again. "But ... " his voice trailed off.

"But what, Abe?" Jo asked, a bit concerned. "What is it?"

He looked up at her again and said, "Things look ... different." He shrugged again and scratched the top of his head. "I don't know, the cars, the buildings, and the clothes that most everybody's wearing." He sighed. "I don't understand what's going on."

"And you say you live at 69th and 2nd?" Hanson asked again.

"Yeah," he replied. He looked from one to other. "Can I go see my dad now?" He waited for them to respond. "Please?"

The color had washed out of Hanson's face. He studied Abe closely for any sign that this was all some kind of an elaborate hoax. Or dream. But he had seen and questioned enough lying suspects and those who were sincere and honest to know that this little guy appeared to be telling the truth. As crazy as Henry's story was, it matched the kid's. Henry's kid. Hand to God, he knew the guy was weird the first time they'd dealt with him during the subway crash investigation a couple of years ago. He sighed and stood up, extending an arm to young Abe.

"Yeah, c'mon, kid," he said, "We'll take ya to him." Abe quickly left his seat and stood by Hanson.

Jo stood up and closed her notepad. "One more thing to check first," she quietly said to Hanson. The three of them left the interview room and walked into the bullpen, stopping at Jo's desk. Hanson instructed the boy to sit in the chair behind his own desk. He pulled out a legal size pad from one of his desk drawers and gave him a box of colored pencils to occupy him. He then pulled the straight back metal chair away from next to Jo's desk and placed it next to her, sitting in it as she typed on her computer keyboard. She pressed enter and they both waited anxiously for the requested information to display onto her screen. When it finally did, their jaws dropped and they exchanged a look of incredulity as they stared at the 1956 NYC marriage record for Henry Morgan, 35, and Abigail Winters, 33; both gave birthplaces in the UK. The next record she retrieved was the official 1945 adoption record for Abraham Morgan born 13 Aug 1944, Auschwitz Camp, Poland (near Oświęcim). Hanson's face turned ashen when they read the names of the adoptive parents: Henry Morgan, 35, a doctor, and Abigail Winters, 22, a nurse; and both in the military and both British citizens. They quickly schooled their features and darted their eyes around the bullpen to see if any of their other colleagues had noticed their reactions. Thankfully, it appeared they had not.

"Passport," Hanson whispered and she nodded, already typing the information into the search window.

Soon, images of Henry's and Abigail's passports with their information and photos filled the screen. Information that matched with everything they'd gathered so far. The passport photo of a young, beautiful Abigail matched the photo of the young, blonde woman on Henry's desk in his basement laboratory of the Antiques Shop. She'd seen it and another photo of an older woman next to it while searching his lab when Henry had been a suspect in the subway crash case. And later, when she'd caught him holding his hunting knife that had had the blood and human matter of Richard Smite on it. But at the time, she had assumed the two photos were younger and older versions of his mother or grandmother. However, she now concluded that the older woman's photo on his desk was also that of Abigail once she'd slipped past middle age.

Jo glanced over her shoulder at Abe, who appeared to be engrossed in creating artwork with the pad and pencils Hanson had just given him. Before she knew anything, though, Hanson was already in Reece's office, ashen-faced, telling her breathlessly, "Lieu, it's true." Then she heard a small voice behind her.

"That's Mom and Dad."

She turned around in her chair to see Abe standing behind her, staring enraptured at the screen.

"Is that a TV? Are they on TV?" he asked with a slight smile, his eyes widened with curiosity.

She quickly collapsed the browser and said, "Uh, Abe, can you wait just a minute back over there?" She pointed to Hanson's desk and he reluctantly walked back and plopped down sullenly into the chair.

"I'll take you to see your dad in a second, okay?" She smiled at him and he nodded. She quickly emailed the documents they'd discovered online to the Lieutenant and closed the browser and logged off of her computer. "Okay," she said and beckoned him with one finger. He jumped up and followed her to Reece's office. Once the door was opened and he saw Henry, he quickly slipped away from her and past Hanson, to stand by his father, who welcomed him with open arms.

"Abraham," he whispered as they embraced. Henry pulled back to look at his son's face. A face he had not seen in decades. He smiled and stroked his hair. "Abraham." He swallowed hard to keep the flood of tears stinging his eyes at bay.

"I'm fine, Dad," Abe quietly told him. Henry smiled at him and nodded, his lower lip trembling.

"You answered all the Detectives' questions?" he finally asked Abe then looked at Jo and Hanson. They both smiled and nodded.

Abe sighed deeply and rolled his eyes before replying, "Yeah, but they must don't write things down because they kept asking me some of the same stuff over and over."

The four adults, including Hanson, couldn't help but chuckle softly even though their eyes were misting over. Henry, naturally, because of his care and concern for his son's wellbeing and safety. The others because they now knew some of the truth their mysterious and quirky ME had long withheld from them about himself. The interaction between Henry and his miraculously age-regressed son unexpectedly warmed their hearts. A parent-child reunion was always heart warming to witness but this one was enhanced with special circumstances, to say the least. But it still allowed them to be privy to a side of the secretive man they had never even suspected he had.

"I was scared, Dad." Abe's voice was small and quiet.

"Wha-, oh, Abe," Henry breathed out fretfully, shaking his head. "Of course, you were. I'm so sorry you had to go through that." He cupped the side of Abe's face in one of his hands.

"The whole time I was there with that creepy guy." Abe said, frowning at the memory. Henry opened his mouth to reply but Abe continued. "But I didn't let _him_ know." He set his mouth into a tight line and jutted his chin out, much like Henry did sometimes when being defiant. "I didn't let him know, Dad."

Henry swallowed and blinked several times before replying, "That was very brave of you, my boy." He sensed the Detectives' antennas being raised when Abe described his captor as 'creepy'. Presumably, they had been more concerned with finding out who the children were and who they belonged to when they'd questioned them and failed to believe them, at first. They'd have to wait, though, to satisfy their curiosity. His own curiosity would have to be put on the back burner, as well. He could see that his son was tired and he strongly felt the need to get him home.

Hanson made eye contact with Lt. Reece, silently requesting her permission to question Abe further, but she put up a hand, keeping her eyes on Henry and Abe.

Henry rose up from his seat and put his arm around Abe's shoulders. He looked at Reece and announced his intentions of taking Abe home and any further questions could wait until tomorrow. Reece closed her eyes and nodded once.

"We're going home now, son," he said, smiling down at him. Abe's next question, however, froze him in his tracks and nearly sucked the air out of his lungs.

"Dad, where's Mom?"

It was an innocent question, a fair one, he conceded. But the others could see that Henry was totally unprepared to answer it. He went stiff as a board and swallowed, causing his Adam's apple to bob furiously. They watched almost awestruck as the terror fleetingly crossed his face, only to be quickly replaced by a calm facade. Countless times they'd seen it before when he'd sidestepped personal questions with either half-truths or lies. He was perceived by many as being anti-social; unreasonably secretive. Now they knew why. Now they knew why he'd so fiercely guarded his private life. Who would have believed him if he had told the truth? They still found it hard to believe even after all the evidence they'd just uncovered. But instead of feeling the satisfaction of successful treasure seekers, they felt the embarrassment of guilty intruders. It was obvious that Henry's wife, Abigail, was no longer in their lives. They now recognized his seemingly calm demeanor as a cover up for the fear he now felt. It was literally rolling off of him as he smiled down at his son.

"She can't be here right now, Abe." Two centuries of practice allowed his voice to be calm and he raised his eyebrows up over his smile. "Settle for the old man?" Abe grinned and nodded, just happy to finally be leaving and headed for home. They bid their goodbyes and proceeded to walk out of Reece's office. Just for a second, he paused as he neared Jo and she placed her hand on his arm, mouthing 'Call me'. He gave her a genuine smile of gratitude and a quick nod. With that, he and his son left the building and took a cab to the Antiques Shop.

"Man, oh, man," Hanson said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wouldn't wanna be in his shoes right now." He scoffed and observed, "You never know what people are hiding, do ya?"


	2. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 2

"Good Lord," Lt. Reece breathed out, rapidly blinking her eyes. "Never in a million years would I have thought that that was what Morgan was hiding." She eyed the two detectives with a pensive look on her face. "And yet ... all the clues, everything ... the answer to all our questions about Morgan was there all the time, right in front of us." She leaned back in her chair smiling whimsically and shaking her head. "Right in front of us," she softly repeated.

"But!" she loudly proclaimed, sitting forward in her chair again. "We still have an unsolved murder and a suspect on the loose," she reminded them. "Solve the murder and hopefully that should lead us to the person who apparently knows how to turn adults back into children."

"How do we ... start?" Hanson asked. "I mean, we gotta wait until tomorrow to question Henry's son again."

A uni approached Jo and informed her that someone from CPS had arrived to take custody of Sally and Jeffrey. She nodded and the uni walked away. She then looked at Reece for direction.

The Lieutenant rose from her desk and joined them near the doorway. "Supervise the transfer of custody, make arrangements to question them again as soon as possible." They both nodded and began to leave. "Martinez." Jo stopped and looked back at her. Reece beckoned her closer. Once back inside her office, Reece advised her to take advantage of her close relationship with Henry in order to get more answers out of him and Abe.

"We can't rule out the possibility of someone having done all this to get revenge on one or both of them. After all," she continued, "according to Morgan, our murder victim had once been romantically involved with his son ... " she slowly shook her head, "when he and she had still been adults."

Jo understood the unspoken directive as she left Reece's office and joined up again with Hanson at his desk.

"No questioning the two kids tomorrow," he sighed. "They're gonna be taken to a safe house or some other place where specially trained professionals will question them to see what their mental states are before letting us at 'em again."

Jo nodded, biting her lower lip. Even though the three 'new' children's baffling situation was most likely tied to Lydia Andrews' murder, she understood the importance of allowing trained professionals to first assess them. Any misstep in questioning them could spook them, causing them to clam up and not offer any further information to the police about their abductor. And Sally and Jeffrey were without their parents. Abe, on the other hand, was in the custody of a loving parent: Henry. If anybody knew how to approach the situation with Abe, his own father should.

She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "And who knows how long before they ... revert?"

Hanson frowned as he considered that possibility. "Or if they ever _will_?" He scoffed. "Someone's gonna have to assess _my_ mental state before this is all over."

"You and me both," she agreed. "Assuming that both Sally and Jeffrey will be placed into foster homes, who knows how safe they'll be in spite of that? Lydia Andrews in child form wound up in foster care and now she's on Henry's table in the morgue." The urgency of the situation suddenly overwhelmed her and she felt that the quicker she made it over to the antiques shop, the better. She grabbed her purse from the desk drawer and plucked her jacket from the back of her chair.

"Home?" Hanson asked as she retreated from the bullpen.

"Not yet," she replied. "I'll text you." She entered the hallway and pushed the elevator button.

Hanson scratched the back of his head. "Okay," he muttered to himself. "Well, I'm headed home," he muttered again and made sure he had his car keys in his pocket. For once, he thanked his lucky stars for the hole in the system that allowed an apparently overworked CPS employee to take custody of the other two kids and lend only mild interest to the fact that Abe had been placed in Henry's care. He respected the difficult role of CPS and their many dedicated employees, but this latest interaction proved to him that some of them didn't care about tying up loose ends, most likely leading to kids who fell through the cracks. _Didn't even ask anything about the parent who took off with Abe._ Well, he thought, their fumble, his safety (two points).

Clearing off his desk, he tore young Abe's drawing off the top of the yellow pad and set it aside. Not bad, he mentally noted. Kid's got talent. He placed the pad and colored pencils back into his desk drawer and started to toss the rendering into his wastebasket. Something stopped him, though. Henry's kid, he thought. He studied young Abe's artwork and was reminded of how much he and his wife, Karen, treasured their own kids' drawings. The Doc will probably wanna keep this, he thought, placing it in the desk drawer with the yellow pad and colored pencils. Having decided to present it to the ME later, he left the precinct for home.

vvvv

Jo got in her car and automatically started it up. After a moment, she turned the car off and called the number of the antiques shop on her cell phone. Worry crept in but quickly faded when Henry picked up on the fifth ring. She could tell by the tone of his voice that things probably weren't going so smoothly with young Abe. How could it? The boy probably was bombarding him with questions that he either had no answers for or dared not provide for the sake of the boy's sanity. And she was sure she heard crying in the background. A child crying.

"Henry, I'm on my way over there." She started the car back up, still holding the phone to her ear.

 _("Jo, under any other circumstances I would welcome your presence, but I'm not sure it would be helpful just now.")_

"Shoot, Henry, I'm not sure, either, but I'm still on my way." She waited for him to reply. "Okay?"

 _(sigh ... "Yes, yes, of course, I'll, I'll ... thank you, Jo.")_

She ended the call and drove to the shop, maneuvering the car in and out of the heavy rush hour traffic. When she finally arrived, she saw Henry standing on the other side of the shop's glass door, a look of controlled anxiety on his face. She quickly parked and exited the car. He unlocked the door and held it open for her as she entered. It pained her to see his reddened, puffy eyes and how emotionally drained he appeared. She walked further into the shop and waited while he locked the door again, his hands shaking.

He quickly closed the distance between them and thanked her again for coming. "Let's go upstairs, shall we?" He extended an arm toward the stairs and followed closely behind her as she walked over to them.

"Where is he?" she softly asked over her shoulder.

"In my room. He finally fell asleep," he quietly replied as they ascended and made their way into the kitchen. "I made some tea. Would you like some?" His hands still shook even as he wrung them.

"No. No, thank you, Henry," she replied, concern evident in her voice. "Why don't you - "

"Well, there's beef pot roast leftover from ... when Abraham ... " his voice broke and his face crumpled. He covered his face with his hand. "I don't ... " he lowered his hand but the pained expression remained. "I don't know how to handle this, Jo. I thought I did, but ... "

She'd already quickly rushed to his side and had begun steering him to one of the chairs around the table. "Henry, sit."

"It was a mistake to even have brought him here to the shop," he moaned, his voice rising a bit. "He doesn't remember anything about this place. I foolishly thought that familiar surroundings would help him understand better when I answered his questions, but in his mind, it's still 1955!" He banged his fist down on the table causing his tea cup and saucer to clatter against each other. "What dirty scoundrel did this to my boy?!" He gnashed the words out through clenched teeth.

Jo took both of his hands in hers and did her best to calm him. "I can only imagine what you're going through, Henry, and I wish I had some answers for you." She released one of his hands and used the other to position his face so she could look him directly in the eyes. "But we're going to get to the bottom of this." Imparting her confidence to him seemed to work as she felt the shaking of his hands slowly subside; his pained expression somewhat lessened.

"He wants to know where his mother is, Jo," he quietly stated with a sad smile, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He sighed and rose from his chair to slowly pace the short length of the kitchen floor. "She left me, us, in 1982, when she was in her mid 60's and Abe was in his late 30's." He shoved his hands down into his pockets and turned to face her. "She died three years later after a car crash in Tarrytown where she'd been living under a false identity."

The story sounded sadly familiar. Another puzzle piece of this mysterious man's life fell into place. "Sylvia Blake," she gasped. "Abe's mother was - your wife, Abigail."

He nodded tiredly. "The bones we found last year. Yes."

"Oh, Henry ... I'm so sorry."

"Everything I've told you, Hanson and the Lieutenant so far about Abraham, me and my condition has been difficult for any of you to digest, am I right?"

She inhaled deeply and replied, "Uh, yeah, you can definitely say that."

"Well, imagine me trying to tell all of this, any of this to a ten-year-old child who woke up only a couple of days ago believing that he's living in the year 1955, and that his family unit is still intact. That his mother is still alive and that his father is a normal man!" The pitch of his voice had gradually risen again. "We didn't tell Abe about my condition until he was in his late teens."

"I understand how that would be a problem, Henry, but it's not going to help for you to fall apart." She looked toward the doorway of the kitchen and then back at him. "It's also not going to do any good to wake him if he's finally sleeping. Try to keep your voice down."

"Yes, yes, I know. Sorry," he apologized. "You're right. This isn't about me; it's about Abraham." He looked at her and gave her a smile of gratitude. "I appreciate you coming over to offer moral support, but I suspect it's going to be a long night. You really should go to your own home and get some rest."

"Henry, you and Abe are my friends," she pointed out. "Of course, I came over to see what help I could offer. Which," she laughingly observed, "wasn't much. But Reece thinks maybe someone is trying to get revenge on one or both of you."

"Anything's possible." He looked at her and grinned slightly. "But I'm sure you're aware of that by now."

"Yeah," she said, laughing softly, "oh, yeah. And you're right. It's probably better that I go home and get a good night's sleep because Hanson and I are gonna hit the ground running tomorrow on this case. We're gonna get the dirty scoundrel," she declared with a smile.

"I'll walk you out," he said.

Once she was outside of the shop, she turned to him and asked, "What are you going to do, Henry? What do you plan to tell him?"

"Dad? Dad! Dad, where are you!" Abe's panicked voice shrilled down the stairs and into the shop, startling them both.

"Here, Abraham! I'm downstairs," he loudly replied. "I'm coming!"

"Oh, my God, Henry. He sounds so, so frightened," she whispered. Her heart ached for what the two of them were going through.

He faced her once again with grim resignation and said, "What will I tell him? I'm going to lie to him. His sanity is at risk. I value _that_ more for him than I do his _trust_ in me. But don't worry; I've had 200 years of practice at hiding and bending the truth when necessary," he said sarcastically. "I just hope we solve this case quickly enough so that he and the others can be set to rights. And I pray that he will have no memories of this hellish time."

vvvv

"Who was that who just left?" Abe asked as he sat at the kitchen table and watched his father heat up some of the leftover pot roast in a skillet on top of the stove.

"Ah, one of the detectives who questioned you down at the police station."

"Which one?"

"The woman, Detective Martinez." The pot roast adequately warmed, he spooned some of it onto a plate with a baked potato and set it on the table in front of his son.

"She's nice," he said, his words lost into his dinner plate. "She's pretty, too." He looked quickly up at Henry. "But not as pretty as Mom. No one's pretty as Mom."

At that, Henry merely smiled, for in his mind, no other woman had ever matched the loveliness of his own mother. Abe was entitled to his preferences of beauty, as well.

Abe picked up his fork and poked it into a baby carrot swimming on top of the gravy. Popping it into his mouth, he chewed and swallowed quickly. "Do I get to talk to them again?"

Henry broke off a piece of french bread and buttered it. "You ... you don't mind?"

"No," he replied, spearing up a chunk of roast beef and potato before plunking it into his mouth. He shook his head as he chewed and swallowed. "Boy, I never thought I'd be so hungry for regular food! That creepy guy - "

Henry motioned for him to wipe his mouth, which he did, and quickly continued.

"- he just kept feeding us candy, soda pop, chips and hot dogs. It was fun at first, but when we started asking to go home, he got mad." He silently remembered that time, then resumed eating. "Jeffrey was really sad because he was missing out on a class field trip and Sally wanted her dumb doll so she cried a lot. 'Cept when she was eatin'." He plunked another mouthful of potato and gravy into his mouth.

"Abe, was there another child there, a little girl named Lydia?" Henry cautiously asked.

"Nope. But when he got mad once, he yelled at us that we were behaving just like Lydia. Yeah. Lydia. He said that she had been a bad little girl always asking to go home when he was being so nice." He shook his head and forked the rest of the meal on his plate into his mouth. After wiping his mouth with his napkin and setting it down next to his plate, he said, "This was great, Dad. Mom's pot roast. Boy, I missed this." He drained his milk from his glass and set it down on the table. "When will she be back from visiting Grandma and Grandpa? Can I call her? I wanna tell her about your friend's neat place we're staying at while she's gone." He looked towards the stairs. "There's a lot of neat stuff in the shop downstairs. Can I ... I mean, may I explore tomorrow? Promise I won't break anything."

He'd told Jo that he would lie to his son rather than reveal the truth of his situation to him. It was easier said than done. But each lie he'd told Abe so far had resulted in a flimsy house of cards that required frequent reinforcing. "She had to leave suddenly, Abe, and it is a long flight back to England; she'll be exhausted once she arrives. Plus there's the time difference. Let's wait on making that call, alright?" He mentally kicked himself while waiting for Abe's reply.

"Oh, okay," he reluctantly agreed. "But I promise I won't break any of your friend's stuff downstairs. I just wanna look at it."

"I'm sorry, Abraham," he said with a more authoritative tone, "it would be best if you didn't. Everything is insured but many of them are also very fragile. They're not toys."

"Yes, Sir," Abe replied, defeated. Then he perked up. "Let's go to the park. Or a movie?"

He'd hidden the TV and radio from Abe's room and the clock radio from his own room. Thankfully, all the magazines and old newspapers were outside in the recycle bin. And they never used any of the paper calendars that swelled their mail pile at each year's end. But how was he supposed to keep a curious ten-year-old boy from discovering the 21st century right outside his doorstep? His heart rate increased as he felt his meticulously built house of cards begin to sway.

"How about I bring the chess game up here and - "

"Chess?" Abe pouted a bit and sat back in his chair. "You're treating me just like that dumb, creepy guy did. He wouldn't let us read the newspaper or watch TV or anything. We had to just stay in that big, cold, dirty warehouse. We ate dinner one night and I got real sleepy all of a sudden after I drank my soda pop."

Drugged, Henry concluded. Along with keeping track of the several lies he'd already told his son, he was making mental notes from the bits and pieces Abe had dropped regarding the time he'd spent with his abductor. The unis had picked up Abe and the other children in the warehouse district but the exact place of their captivity had not yet been discovered.

"It was the next morning when we woke up in the basement." He frowned slightly and said, "There were stairs leading up to a door. Yeah, I guess it was the basement of a house. And they fed us popcorn and grape juice for breakfast but nothing else for the rest of the day," he dourly recalled.

"You heard no other voices, saw no one else other than the, uh, 'creepy guy'?"

"No," he replied. "But I don't see how he could have handled us all by himself," the boy added.

"You're right. He had to have help," he realized and rose from his chair. "Abe, do you think you could show me the warehouse you were kept in?" He knew from the police report where the unis had found Abe and the other children, but none of them seemed to have known how they'd all been released.

The boy shook his head. "No. I never saw it from the outside and only that one little room where we were kept." He shuddered at the remembrance. Henry reacted as well, but with anger. Whatever maniac had done this to his son would surely pay.

Abe stood up and fished something out of his pants pocket. He held it up and showed it to Henry. "What's this, Dad? A walkie-talkie?"

Henry's breath caught in his throat and his heart fell. Abraham's burner phone. The one he'd given to him just days before his disappearance. He stared at it unable to immediately react or respond. Not since Jo had shown up on his doorstep last year with the photo of Abigail, baby Abe and him, demanding answers, had he felt the walls closing in on him like this. He'd managed to lie his way out of things then, but could he, should he, continue to lie to his son now? Where in the world had he found that phone anyway? How could he have missed it when he cleared their bedrooms of any and all present-day items?

"If it is, it's the smallest walkie-talkie I've ever seen." He flipped the phone's cover up and frowned at the tiny display. It was all happening in slow motion for Henry but he still couldn't find the willpower to react.

"Something must be wrong with this thing," Abe said and held it up for Henry to see. "The day and the month are right, but the year says it's 2015." The puzzled look he gave Henry soon gave way to a look of horrified realization. He gently laid the phone on the table and began to tremble from head to foot, frightening Henry. "That's why everything looks so different," he whispered. "That's why things ... the buildings, the cars, some of the music I heard ... don't look or sound like they're from 1955." His voice shook now and his breath came in short pants. "What's happening, Dad?" He began to cry and Henry gently pulled him into a tight embrace. "What's happening?!"

It was apparent that Henry's house of cards had just come tumbling down.

Notes:

Since the original "Stopped Clock" was published o by darklyndsea Feb 2015, I kept that year as the year of these events.


	3. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 3

Summary:

Henry comes clean with Abe and painful memories are examined and dealt with by both. After all, it's 2015 now and the creepy guy who may be connected to Lydia Andrews' murder is still on the loose.

Notes:

This takes place after the previous chapter and just before Chapter 5 of the original Stopped Clock. ***

xxxx

The TV and radios had been plugged back up in both Abe's and Henry's bedrooms. Music from a station with a playlist from the 30's through the 80's thrummed softly as they talked things out. Luckily, that night spotlighted songs from the 50's. Exhausted both physically and mentally, they lay on their backs on top of the covers on his large bed, staring at the ceiling. Henry had disclosed as much of the truth as he felt necessary to his son, canceling out the lies he had fed him earlier in the day. They'd spent time looking at some of the photos Henry had plucked from their various photo albums especially some taken of Henry several decades before he'd met Abigail and Abe and the ones that chronicled Abe's first ten years of life. This activity had helped to make it easier for him to disclose the secret of his immortality to his son. Again. The first time had been when he was in his late teens. He dolefully recalled how he'd attempted to lie his way out of it then, as well. Abigail would have none of it, though. It was time, she'd told him. And, of course, she'd been right. Abe had accepted him, although it had taken the better part of dinner into midnight to finally convince him that his parents were telling him the truth. It had not been much different now, except that he'd had to convince Abe all by himself; yet he'd taken it well.

 _Six hours earlier ..._

 _"Wow," Abe drew out, brushing his outstretched fingers over the photos. "You really have lived long." He looked up at his father in wonder as if seeing him for the first time. He then stared at a photo of himself as a bright-eyed baby in the arms of a beautiful, young, smiling Abigail. A smiling, ageless Henry stood next to her. Then he gazed at a photo of himself at 18 in his Army uniform, standing next to a smiling Abigail; still attractive but showing the telltale signs (graying hair, wrinkles and double chin, pudgy waistline) of a person approaching 50. Henry was not in the photo for he was the one who had snapped it. As much as it had pained him, he'd declined to be photographed with either of them. Might be hard to explain later, he'd sadly advised them._

 _Abe looked questioningly at him. "Was Mom ... did it make her sad that she started to look older than you?"_

 _Henry patted his son's arm and chose to simply remind him that he and his mother had been very much in love. "And she loved_ _ **you**_ _, her little man, very much. Those are the only things worth remembering."_

Eyes half-closed, Henry turned his head to look at the young boy who lay beside him. How many times in the past had they done this while having father-son talks? He fully closed his eyes and smiled at those fond memories playing in his mind like snippets from an old black and white film, but at the same time, it seemed like only yesterday. Time really didn't stand still for him, he realized. It flew by for him just as it did for everyone else. How he wished to rewind and relive those years with Abe and Abigail again. The early years, the happy years. The happiest years of his long life to date.

"Dad?" Abe's small, quiet voice penetrated his thoughts.

"Yes, Abraham?"

He sighed. "So, Mom's ... dead ... and has been for - "

"Thirty years," he softly replied.

"Thirty years ... " He shifted his position a little on the bed. "We loved her, didn't we, Dad?"

"Still do and always will. With all our heart."

"Yeah," Abe agreed. "And she'd want us to be happy and not stay sad about her, right?"

Henry smiled, recalling the many times Abe had told him just that over the past 30 years. Wise even as a child, Henry thought. "You're quite right, my boy."

"Yeah. Yeah. So it's really 2015, and I'm an old guy, ugh," he acknowledged, making a face, "but I've lived a happy life and even fought in a war! Been married twice to the same woman. Divorced her twice." He made a scoffing sound and shook his head. "Never thought I'd do dumb stuff when I grew up."

Henry chuckled and patted his small hand. "Well, Abraham, you are not alone. As one of those grownups who have done and continues to do 'dumb stuff', I can attest to that."

"You've done dumb stuff, Dad? When? Like what?"

He inhaled and exhaled loudly. "Like lying to you about your situation and the current year at first instead of telling you the truth, fearing that you wouldn't believe it or be able to handle it." And lying to Jo about himself at first instead of telling her the truth, fearing she wouldn't believe or be able to handle it. A pattern of mistrust on his part, he recognized.

"Aw, I know you were just trying to protect me," he replied. "But ... this shop. You said it belongs to _me_?"

"Well, yes. Half, anyway. The other half belongs to me."

"But since you work all day at the morgue, then that means I run the shop. Right?" He flipped onto his side to face his father, his arm bent, supporting his head with his hand.

Oh, dear, dear, where is this going? Henry frettingly asked himself with a slight smile, although he felt he knew the answer. "Right," he replied tentatively.

"Then it should be okay for me to explore some of the stuff downstairs. Since they're mine - "

"Ours," Henry calmly corrected him.

"Okay, ours. So you should trust me that I'm not gonna break any of 'our' stuff."

Henry closed his eyes and sighed. Defeated by a persistent pre-pubescent. "Yes, you may 'explore' downstairs - "

Abe pounced on him and hugged and thanked him.

" - as long as you promise **not** to **touch** a **thing**."

Abe withdrew from the hug and sat quickly up with one leg folded underneath him. "Okay, I promise, I promise," he excitedly replied. He quieted down and lowered his eyes, scratching on the bed covering in the small space between them. "Uh, that lady, Det. Martinez, is she gonna arrest me?"

Henry frowned and sat quickly up. "Arrest you? Heavens, no! Whatever put that into your mind, Abraham?"

"Well, because she came over here. Looking for me, I guess. Unless ... " his voice trailed off as he stared wide-eyed at Henry. "She just came over here to see if we were okay? Just to be nice?" He recalled how in school they were taught to trust the police because 'the policeman wants to be your friend'. He'd never seen a policewoman other than meter maids so this lady detective was an exciting new discovery for him. However, with this batch of new information under his belt regarding him not really being a kid and it not really being 1955 anymore, he wondered if the police were still friendly. Maybe she was.

Henry laughed softly, amazed at his son's great insight. "Exactly that, Abraham. She wanted to see how we were doing and if she could help."

Abe nodded and lowered his eyes. "I kinda think it's okay to trust her and let her be a friend, then. We're gonna need her help to find that creepy guy so me and the others can get fixed back to how we were. Do you think ... Mom would mind if she was ... our friend?"

Tears suddenly smarted at Henry's eyes. He slowly sat up to a sitting position and turned to rest his feet on the floor. _'She's a friend, she can be trusted. Tell her.'_ Abe's adult voice echoed the urgings in his ears. He fought back the tears through waves of guilt and regret and breathed deeply to calm himself. His son. Wise as an adult, wise even now as a child.

Abe, concerned, scooted closer to him and put his arm around his shoulders. "You okay, Pops?"

He breathed in deeply and rubbed his hand across his forehead. "Yes, yes, I'm fine," he said and smiled fondly over at the boy. "I don't believe your mother would mind at all if we were friends with Det. Martinez. And she's assured me that she, Det. Hanson and Lt. Reece will do everything they can to bring the creepy guy to justice. We're all going to do everything we can to get you and the others back the way you should be."

Abe gave him a huge grin then said, "Tomorrow I'll tell her everything I can remember so we can catch this guy. 10-4!" He scooted further towards the edge and off of the bed and stood up. He hugged Henry again and before he could react, had turned to walk out of the room.

"Where are you going? Not downstairs, Abraham, it's 3:36 in the morning."

Abe stopped just outside the doorway and turned to reply. "Nope. Just ... kinda wanna sleep in my own bed in my own room." He lowered his eyes then looked back up at his father. "Sorta got a little more cryin' to do over Mom." He blinked and swallowed, softly closing the door.

Henry slowly lay back down on the bed staring at the ceiling. Then he laid one arm across his forehead and closed his eyes. His breaths were coming in short hitches, shaking him to his core and he knew that he had a little more crying to do over his dear Abigail, too.

xxxx

Short chapter but did you grab a box of kleenex? I know, angsty. Hope you enjoy reading, though.


	4. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 4

Summary: _"Henry has a panic attack; Lucas learns of Abe's affliction."_ That's the original summary for Chapter 5 of the original story, Stopped Clock. It's the next day and Henry explained to Lucas why he appeared so sleep-deprived. He had let it slip that _"Abraham was rather upset last night—understandably so—so I had to spend my time comforting him and helping him settle in. We'd never planned to have a child staying at the shop."_ Lucas had helped him through the panic attack and Jo had joined them in the morgue. Henry, still recovering from his panic attack, requested that Jo fill Lucas in on the impossible situation, which she did. Lucas, of course, was totally awed by all the amazing information and now joins the two detectives, their lieutenant and the immortal ME on the baffling case of the de-aged children that might be connected to the murder of Lydia Andrews. Also, Jo had announced a meeting in minutes in Lt. Reece's office regarding the case and since Lucas was filled in, he could attend, as well.

vvvv

"Good morning, everyone," Lt. Reece said, scooting her chair in closer to her desk. She looked over the small group in her office that now included Lucas. They each returned her greeting, Jo and Henry seated in the two available chairs and Hanson and Lucas choosing to stand. "Mr. Wahl. Welcome." He sheepishly grinned but said nothing. "Since you identified the phenomenon Dr. Morgan's elderly son and the others are experiencing as de-aging, I wondered if you had any additional information to share?"

Lucas stood a little taller and glanced nervously at the others then back at her. "It's usually a result of either science or magic." He chuckled softly and admitted, "I guess we can rule out magic." He shot a look at Henry and cleared his throat. "I think." He cleared his throat again and added, "But I've ... read a lot on the subject and in the end, the process has almost always been successfully reversed."

"Almost always," Reece repeated, working to hide a faint smile. "Well, let's hope for a successful reversal in this case." She turned her attention to Henry. "How are you feeling today, Doctor?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

He wanted to say a lot of things like if an alien had sucked his brain out he'd consider that a good day compared to what he and his son were dealing with now. Instead, he smiled and replied, "Fine, considering."

"And our little guest?" she asked with a faint smile and raised an eyebrow.

Henry smiled broader. "He's actually getting along quite well. Considering. Thank you for asking."

"Where is he, by the way?"

Hanson spoke up first. "He's with the Forensics Artist giving a description of his abductor. " Reece advised him to go and check up on their progress. "Sure," he replied and left the office, closing the door behind him.

"He was also able to give us a little more information about where they were held and while he says he didn't see a whole lot of the place, he described the sound of some kind of machinery," Jo added.

"Good," she replied. "Any leads yet in the Lydia Andrews case?" She directed her question to both Henry and Jo.

"Yes, the weapon she was killed with was a butcher knife common in kitchen cutlery sets," Henry replied. "Although no prints were found on the handle sticking out of her back, the blade had recently been used to slice cheddar cheese and red apples. And she bled out in another location; her body was dumped where it was found."

"The only family we were able to find is an 88-year-old older sister named Helen DeKamp, but she suffers from Alzheimer's and has been in a nursing home upstate for the past eight years." Jo bit her lower lip and sighed.

"So she can't be of any help," Reece concluded. Then she frowned and asked, "Who reported her missing last year?"

"It was actually Abe - " she paused and glanced at Henry. He pursed his lips but remained silent. She turned her attention back to the Lieutenant. "When she failed to show up for one of their dinner dates, according to the report, he 'tried several times to reach her by phone but was unsuccessful'. Since she was an adult, he'd been advised that only after 48 hours could an MPR be filed and actively investigated."

"I recall that time," Henry whispered. He uncrossed his legs and sat forward in his chair. "He was very upset and I ... I had told him that he'd merely been stood up." He sighed and continued, "She was most likely abducted while on the way to their dinner date."

"Well, that would give us a general location, anyway," Jo speculated. She looked from Henry then to Reece. "It's not much, but it's something."

"Do you think it's possible that your son may have seen something that put him in danger resulting in his own recent abduction?" Reece asked Henry.

He shrugged and opened his mouth several times. "Anything's possible. I simply don't know." A frown deepened on his face as he recalled how upset Abe had been as he'd paced with his cell phone to his ear trying to reach Lydia and then trying to convince the police that she would never have stood him up, that she was in some kind of danger. Several hours later Henry had accompanied a very frustrated Abe to Lydia's apartment on East 65th Street. He'd sheepishly produced a key from his pocket, managing to avoid the scrutiny of his father's gaze. He'd unlocked the door and they'd entered.

"There was no sign of her in the apartment, no sign of a struggle, so if she had been abducted from there ... " He turned to Jo with dawning realization on his face, "would mean that she knew her abductor." At that time, they'd assumed that she had left and something happened to her en route to the restaurant. Now, the possibility that she'd known her abductor was intriguing.

The tiny lines between Jo's eyebrows appeared more prominently as she processed the new information. "Of course, that's possible, but there's a lot of real estate between her apartment and the restaurant. After more than a year, though, getting surveillance footage to help pinpoint her movements that evening are zero and none."

"We keep both avenues of investigation open, then," Reece informed them. "Maybe not surveillance footage but how about taxicab records?" She directed her question to Jo. "Find out if she made it as far as being able to take a cab."

Jo nodded, biting her lower lip and added the order to her notepad.

"Dr. Morgan, is there anything else you can recall from your visit to her apartment?" Reece asked him in full 'just-the-facts' mode.

He searched his memory, eyes darting up and around. "No," he sighed. "I seriously doubt if I could recall the actual apartment number or even the floor it was on."

"Information easily obtained from the building management, I'm sure," Jo said.

Henry and the Lieutenant both nodded. Then Henry slowly rose to his feet and began to slowly pace over to the door and back to Reece's desk, his eyes widening as he recalled something. "Abe was never satisfied with the slow progress of the investigation into her disappearance. He told me that he'd revisited her apartment building and had spoken to a few of her neighbors. One, in particular, had regularly accompanied her to the bingo hall." He snapped his fingers. "Marjorie Stanton." He looked at Reece then at Jo and said, "I do hope that she still resides there."

"Should be easy to track her down if she's moved," Jo said. "At any rate, a return visit seems in order."

A single knock at the door garnered their attention. "Come," Reece said with a raised voice.

Hanson opened the door and allowed young Abe to enter first. He shyly beelined for his father, who guided him over to sit in the vacant chair next to Jo. The others watched the pair's parent-child interaction again with a mixture of both awe and gratitude. Also, pride, because the secretive ME had finally let down his walls of privacy and allowed them to view what they knew, was only a small part of his unreal world. The bizarre situation that confronted them with its fantasmal overlaps had overworked their normal thought processes. Because of this, they'd come to find it easier to treat the familial pair the same as they would any other: Henry, the concerned and protective parent and Abe, the confused and frightened child recently recovered from an abductor.

"Abraham, say 'Hello' to Lt. Reece. You remember her from yesterday, right?"

"Yeah, Pops," he replied. "Hello, Ma'am," he said with a smile.

"Hello, Abraham," she replied with a smile of her own.

"And this is my assistant, Lucas Wahl," Henry said, motioning to Lucas.

"Hello, Mr. Wahl."

"Hey, little guy," Lucas chuckled with widened eyes. This was his first time seeing the boy. He couldn't help but make a mental comparison between the boy and his elderly self. "Nice to meet ya." He grinned and shook the boy's hand. Then glanced quickly at Henry and withdrew to his spot where he'd been standing.

"I hear you've been keeping our Forensics Artist busy this morning." The boy nodded a couple of times.

"Abraham ... ?" Henry nudgingly reminded him.

"Sorry. Yes, Ma'am. But ... "

"But what?" Reece asked.

Abe sighed as if frustrated and set his lips against each other, pushing the lower one out a bit just as Henry often did. "She didn't understand how to, how to make him look ... right. Guess I couldn't describe him good enough."

Reece saw Hanson react but she kept her eyes on the boy. "Then tell us how he looked. Perhaps we can imagine it better than someone can recreate it on paper." He looked at his father first who nodded encouragingly, then back at Reece.

"He looked like Archie wearing Mr. Peepers eyeglasses. I told the lady doing the drawing, but she didn't know what I was talkin' about and she kept gettin' it wrong," he pouted. After reading the room, he realized the comparison was also lost on all except Henry.

"Archie Andrews in those old comic books. And Mr. Peepers was a TV show back in - he stopped himself and glanced down at Abe.

"It's okay, Pops, you can say it," Abe said tiredly.

"Mr. Peepers was a TV show in the 1950's," Henry finished explaining.

All of the adult's eyes landed on Lucas who shook his head and threw both hands up in surrender to clueless-ness. "Sorry, never heard of either."

Abe rolled his eyes and began describing the man. "He had kind of thick, red hair on the top of his head, parted down the middle, but close cut on the sides and the back. He wore these glasses with a black frame and round lenses." Abe licked his lips and shifted his weight in his seat. "A bow tie ... who wears a bow tie anymore?" he smirked. "And those sweaters with the crazy colors that don't match anything else you're wearing. He would talk to himself sometimes like he was having a fight with himself, then he'd kind of snicker. It sounded like one those squeaky toys. He didn't even speak with a real human being's voice; kind of like a cartoony voice." He shook his head. "Not real. And he'd be real nice then get real mad over nuthin'!" He began to frown at the memory and tightened his lips against each other again, shifting closer to Henry. "Um, it was just creepy seeing a real live person dressed up like a comic book character." He turned his frown up at Henry. "On top of that, what he did to us! He's creepy and crazy," he muttered angrily. Jo gazed sympathetically at him and patted his shoulder, as did Henry.

Hanson suddenly stiffened. "Wait a minute," he said, frowning then laughed, softly pounding his fist against his forehead. "Oh, boy, why didn't I see it before." He collected himself and waved an arm at the confused expressions on the others' faces. "Just a minute." He opened the door and closed it behind him leaving the others too confused to utter a word. The door quickly reopened and he reentered the room holding the drawing Abe had made the other day as he'd sat at his desk. He walked over to Henry and handed it to him with a grin. "I was gonna give this to you later, figured you'd wanna keep it as a memento," he said. "Turns out it might just be our biggest lead."

Henry and Jo stared with growing realization at Abe's drawing. He showed it to his son and asked, "Abraham, is this a drawing of the man you've been describing to us?" Abe nodded, glaring at the drawing. Henry smiled but it was evident his son was still a bit disturbed by his ordeal. "I'm curious, Abraham, why would you want to make a drawing of him after what he put you and the others through?"

Abe raised his eyebrows and replied, "Well, you always said that if something upset me, I should write it all down to get it out of my system." He shrugged and continued explaining, "This time I just chose to make a drawing of what ... of who upset me. Look," he said, pointing near the bottom of the drawing, "I gave him two left feet." A self-satisfied grin spread across his face as the adults quietly laughed.

vvvv

"Harvey Weingarten, 28 years old, some kind of biochemist, chemical engineer genius. MIT grad at 15," Hanson spouted as he and Jo breezed out of the bullpen towards the elevators. They both made sure their cuffs and guns were in their assigned places on their persons. "I texted you his last known address."

She glanced at her cell phone. "Got it."

"Did you let Henry know?" he asked as he impatiently waited for the elevator car to arrive.

"Yeah. I told him guns and badges only."

Hanson scoffed and twitched his head a little. "Bet he liked hearin' that."

"Lieu's right. He's too close to this," Jo replied. As much as she would like to have had him accompany them to question Weingarten, she had to trust Reece's judgment. And, especially since it was an order, she definitely had to obey that.

They were out of the building now, piling into Jo's assigned vehicle. After a traffic-challenged 25-minute drive, she parked in front of a towering condo high-rise on East 65th Street. As they stood in front of the building, they exchanged surprised looks.

"Something familiar about this place," Hanson remarked. He pulled out his notepad and flipped a few pages. Quickly skimming the notes, he sighed and closed it back up, sticking it back into his pocket.

"What?" Jo asked, craning her neck as her eyes traveled to the top of the building.

"This is Lydia Andrews' last known address, too."

xxxx

Notes:

Original quotes from the original "Stopped Clock" by darklyndsea and betaread by superlc529:

"Henry has a panic attack; Lucas learns of Abe's affliction."

"Abraham was rather upset last night—understandably so—so I had to spend my time comforting him and helping him settle in. We'd never planned to have a child staying at the shop."


	5. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 5

_"Something familiar about this place," Hanson remarked. He pulled out his notepad and flipped a few pages._

 _"What?" Jo asked, craning her neck as her eyes traveled to the top of the building._

 _"This is Lydia Andrews' last known address, too."_

vvvv

Jo and Hanson braced themselves for an interesting time as they identified themselves as police detectives and gained entry past the building's outside security system. Once inside, they were directed to the building's management office. The building guard offered to call the manager to inform her that they were on their way, but Hanson stopped him.

"We'll take it from here," he said, taking the phone receiver from the guard's hand and placing it back into its cradle.

He and Jo found themselves at the open door of the office. They exchanged expectant looks and stepped cautiously inside.

"Hello?" Jo called out, looking around. "Anyone here?"

The sound of a toilet flushing and running water came from the end of the hallway; then a door opening and closing and footsteps drawing nearer.

"Hello?" Jo called again, hearing the footsteps.

"Yes, how can I help you?" A young woman in a navy blue business suit and spiky heels greeted them. Her smile faded somewhat when they held up their badges and identified themselves. She identified herself as Trina Good, the manager. Placing one hand on her hip, she dryly remarked, "Guess you're not here to see about an apartment."

"Actually, we are," Jo replied matter-of-factly. "Lydia Andrews' apartment. That name sound familiar to you?"

Trina's long, black lashes fluttered under her thick, red bangs and she cast her green eyes downward. "Yes. Why?"

"She was reported missing a little over a year ago. At the time, she resided in this building." Jo tilted her head to the side. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"No. I've only been working here for a couple of months." She walked past them, nervously smoothing the hairs on the back of her head upward and tucking loose ones in, under the bun on top. She stopped near her desk and eyed her name plate.

"Okay. We'd like to see your tenant list from that time period," Jo said.

"Well, I'd say you'd need a warrant for that," Trina snapped.

"This is a _murder_ investigation," Hanson snapped back.

Startled, Trina suddenly stiffened. "Wha - who - ? I, I thought you said she was just missing?"

"She was, at first. Her body wasn't located until recently, though," Jo replied.

Trina half-stumbled towards a small couch and dropped onto it, covering her mouth with both hands. "Oh, my ... God," she whispered. "She ... she was such a nice lady," she whispered, her voice shaky.

Hanson frowned, looking at Jo, but said nothing.

"Trina, if you know anything about Lydia's murder - you must tell us so we can bring her killer to justice," Jo said softly but firmly.

Trina sat up, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes. "How was she killed?"

Jo looked at Hanson before replying. "She was stabbed."

Trina's face crumpled into a frown of despair as she processed the information, then she managed to calm herself. "Wait here. I'll get you the tenant records." She stood up and walked over to a file cabinet and pulled out a manila folder with 'ANDREWS, Lydia' on the tab. She handed it to Hanson and told them, "I'll print out a copy of the tenant list from a year ago."

Hanson looked up from the file and said, "Make it from two years ago. That's when she took up residence here." He closed the file and added, "We're gonna hang onto this."

"Sure," Trina said, her eyes on her computer screen. After bringing up the Excel spreadsheet that contained the tenant list, she isolated the two-year period and hit 'print'. "There," she indicated with her head to the printer as it spit the pages out. Hanson walked over and retrieved the pages, placing them inside Lydia's file folder.

Jo had been watching over Trina's shoulder. She straightened up and asked Hanson to look over the list to see if Weingarten's name was on it. While he did, Trina asked, "Who?"

"Harvey Weingarten," Jo replied. "This is his last known place of residence."

Trina stared blankly at them.

"Late 20's, red hair, wears bowties," Hanson said, waving a hand nonchalantly.

"Oh, that sounds like Lydia's grandson. Sorry, I didn't recognize his name. He's kind of weird. Those geniuses can act kind of nutso sometimes." She shook her head vigorously and wiggled her fingers near the side of her head.

"Why isn't his name on the tenant list?" Hanson asked, closing the folder again.

"I suppose because he's not an official tenant; but he should be cross-sectioned as guest/visitor. He's been staying in his grandmother's apartment. I understand he moved in when she started having ... problems."

"What kind of problems?" Jo asked.

"You know, forgetting things; she got a little mixed up and tried to enter the wrong apartment a couple of times. Sometimes she seemed okay, like her old self, but the forgetting ... gradually became more frequent."

"Did they seem to get along okay?" Jo asked. "Caring for someone with those issues can take its toll on a person. Family or not."

"If you're implying that he did anything to hurt her, you're wrong. I mean, I may not have really been on a speaking basis with him, but it was pretty evident to everyone that she was well cared for," Trina explained. "The apartment is still leased in his grandmother's name." She shook her head. "Poor woman."

"You said you only started working here a couple of months ago," Hanson said. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"It was ... ," she searched her memory, "gosh ... probably shortly before she went missing. She and my Aunt Marjorie are ... were... good friends. They liked to go to bingo." She shook her head again. "Aunt Marjorie was forced to stop going to bingo with her, though. She told me that the last time they'd gone, Lydia had just sat there looking at the boards and holding a chip in her fingers. She'd forgotten how to play bingo," she said sadly.

"That, that is upsetting. I'm so sorry," Jo said, biting her lower lip. "Your aunt wouldn't be Marjorie Stanton, would she?"

Surprised, Trina nodded then asked, "How did you know that? She's not in any trouble, is she?" Alarmed, she sat forward, her voice rising in pitch. "I can vouch for her, she had nothing to do with this, she would never harm Lydia, they were friends!"

Hanson took a step forward. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down. We just want to question her."

Trina closed her eyes and took a calming deep breath. She reopened her eyes and said, "My aunt's apartment is two doors down from Lydia's but she won't be back from her kidney dialysis treatment until around 4:30."

Hanson, noting the time by his watch, nodded and said, "That gives us a little time. We also need to speak to Lydia's grandson. Does he work or would he be home now?"

Trina grabbed a key ring from the top desk drawer. "I'll take you up there," she said.

vvvv

At same time in the morgue ...

"Poor old lady," Lucas said with genuine sincerity as he looked over Lydia Andrews' autopsy report. He sat in the chair in front of Henry's desk. He closed up the file and handed it back to Henry. Normally, he would have managed to remain emotionally detached from the case, but since her death might be connected to the situation (that he had identified, Yass!) involving Henry's de-aged son, Abe, and the others, it held a special significance for him.

It had already been determined that she'd been standing in a relaxed position when her killer stabbed her in the upper back, causing severe damage to her already enlarged and weakened aorta. The odd angle of the thrust, however, suggested a person somewhat shorter than Lydia's 5'4" height with adult strength who had weilded the weapon. Both ME's had shuddered at and totally rejected the thought that a child would be capable of such a horrendous crime. A very short adult, then, they had more comfortably concluded.

And even though her stomach contents had revealed a last meal of peppermint candy, a milk chocolate bar and a hot dog, her right palm and fingers contained traces of the same cheddar cheese and red apples of the Northern Spy variety that had been found on the knife's blade and in her wound. It was as if she had squeezed the food items in her hand.

"She wasn't long for this world anyway," Lucas said, rising from the chair, "with a weakened heart condition like that."

"You're right, Lucas," Henry replied, frowning as he looked over her report. "That, and the fact that her brain showed signs of frontal temporal lobe dementia." He quickly looked at Lucas. "In its early stages, but she would have experienced headaches and hallucinations as the disease progressed." He sighed and closed the file, passing it back to Lucas, instructing him to place it back into the file cabinet.

Several weeks after her disappearance, Abe had revealed that his dinner date with her the night she'd never turned up, was hardly for romantic reasons. He had been trying to convince her to seek medical help which she had always adamantly refused.

As Lucas opened the file cabinet and replaced Lydia's file back into its alphabetical slot, Henry walked slowly over to him. Lydia's disappearance and recent discovery of her remains was eerily similar to (although having had a lesser emotional impact) that of Abigail's disappearance years ago and the recent recovery of her remains. He'd already shed his white lab coat and begun walking out of the morgue. "I'll be in the Children's Room upstairs, Lucas, if anyone is looking for me," he said over his shoulder.

"Hey, Doc," Lucas called after him. When Henry turned around, he grinned and told him, "Abe does make a cute kid." Henry smiled warmly back at him, nodded his thanks and continued out of the morgue.

He drummed his fingers impatiently against the wall of the car as the elevator rose to the fourth floor. As soon as it came to a stop and the doors slowly opened, he quickly stepped out and to his right toward the Children's Room where Abe was. The uniformed policeman standing guard outside the room gave him a quick nod and stepped aside to allow him to enter. The door opened onto an oblong-shaped room with brightly-colored walls and furniture. He half-glanced at the two cribs in the mini-nursery at the far left, and quickly spotted Abe at the far right of the room, reading a book. As he drew nearer, his smile grew even wider as he realized that his son was reading to a small group of younger children. Cross-legged, they sat on the beige-carpeted floor, quietly listening about the adventures of Rangers Rob and Jean in the Finger Lakes National Forest in Hector, New York.

" ... **fish** -inggg ... (they all said in unison as Abe turned the book around and pointed to the pictures on each page ) ... **hik** -inggg ... **canoe** -inggg ... " He smiled down at the four-year-old girl twins and the unrelated five and six-year-old boys. His eyes traveled to Henry's feet, then up the length of his body to his face that beamed with pride. Abe quickly pushed the book back into the surprised hands of the social worker next to him and left his seat.

"Dad." He smiled happily as he bounded to a stop in front of him. "You've come to take me to lunch?"

"Yes, but, ah, I don't want to interrupt the story time." He made eye contact with the social worker who raised her hand and shook her head, smiling. He beamed back down at Abe and patted him on the shoulder. "Looks like we've got a lunch date, then." As they exited the room he laughed heartily when Abe announced his desire for 'two double-cheeseburgers and fries'. "How about we start with a regular cheeseburger and go from there?" As Abe replied with a semi-deflated 'okay', a short - very short woman, despite her four-inch high heels and the bun piled in three layers on top of her head, passed them in the hallway and stopped in front of the Children's Room door.

"Ah, wait here, Abe," he instructed him as he pointed to a bench near the elevators. "I'll just be a moment. Abe obediently sat on the bench and watched disinterestedly as his father walked back toward the Children's Room.

"Excuse me, please," he addressed the uni outside the door. "Was that someone from CPS who just went in?"

"Yes, Doctor, that was Deirdre Banks," the uni replied matter-of-factly. "Most likely come to take custody of some or all of the other children in there."

"Has she been here before?"

He tilted his head to the side, studying the question. "Well, this is a rotational, three-month assignment. On my watch, she's been here at least three other times." He looked over his shoulder and peered at her through the half-open door. "She's really no bigger than a lot of these kids," he scoffed.

Frowning, Henry thanked him and turned to rejoin Abe. The uni's comment about the woman's small stature being comparable to that of a child's, reminded him that he and Lucas had concluded that Lydia Andrews had been stabbed in the back by a very short person with adult strength. At some point, he realized, Lydia in her child state could have been in the custody of this same woman or their paths had crossed at some point. _Kitchen knife. Sliced cheese and fruit. A snack. For children, perhaps. Like in a daycare or ... a foster home!_ The elevator doors had opened but he placed his hands on Abe's shoulders and bent down to face him.

"My apologies, Abraham, but something very important has come up regarding a case we're working on. I've, I've got to - "

"You and the cops have got to spring into action?" the boy asked excitedly.

"Well, I wouldn't put it that way, but, yes, we have to act swiftly or - "

" - bad guy's gonna give you the slip!" he gleefully finished for him.

Henry merely smiled with raised eyebrows and shook his head. "Wait here, please, Abraham."

"Sure, Dad. Go get 'em!" He scooted back toward the bench and sat back down on it.

He quickly stole up next to the uni and instructed him in a fierce whisper to delay Banks' departure until Lt. Reece arrived because she was a suspect in a murder case. The uni nodded, entered the room and locked the door. Amidst her muffled protests on the other side of the door, he phoned Reece on his burner phone and filled her in, alerting her to his suspicions about Banks. She assured him that she trusted his instincts 100% but without definite proof that she was involved, there was no reason to detain the woman. _Get me some proof, Henry._ He reluctantly ended the call and instructed the uni that he could end the pretense and allow Banks to leave with the four children.

He then phoned Lucas in the morgue and asked him to accompany his son to the diner around the corner for burgers and fries. Lucas eagerly consented. He felt flattered, even, that Henry would place his most precious human commodity into his care. _No problemo, Doc. Be up there in a second to take charge of the little guy._ True to his word, a breathless Lucas burst out of the stairwell and zeroed in on them. Henry gave a heartfelt thank you to Lucas, who declined any money from him, insisting that it was his pleasure, his treat. And after an abbreviated explanation from Henry for the cloak and dagger, Lucas whisked Abe away to their mid-day junk food feast.

Standing in the hallway watching Banks leave with the children, he felt his pulse rate rise and his breathing grow a bit faster. Every cell in his body screamed for him to stop the woman, but Reece had made it perfectly clear that he first had to have some type of evidence. _We're getting close, closer to solving your murder, Lydia. I can feel it._ But he couldn't just let Banks walk away. With Jo and Hanson out in the field following up on clues he felt that he had no choice but to do his own investigating. He had to follow her.

vvvv

Lydia Andrews' apartment on East 65th Street ...

Trina unlocked the door to the apartment and was ordered to 'stay back'. She remained in the hallway while the two detectives entered, guns drawn. They separated and searched the rooms, yelling out "Clear" as they worked their way toward the guest bedroom in the back of the apartment. From the clothing hanging in the closet and in the bureau drawers and other items on top of the bureau and dresser, it was apparent that a male was inhabiting the bedroom. The bathroom door was slightly ajar. Hanson slowly pushed on it to fully open it but something was obstructing it. He looked back at Jo and they nodded quickly to each other. They both clutched their weapons with both hands as he shoved his shoulder against the door. The obstruction, a plastic laundry hamper, popped out of its tightly wedged position and the door flung open, banging against the wall. The basket toppled forward and now lay on top of a prostate form on the bathroom floor. They sighed and lowered their weapons but made sure that no one else was in the bathroom.

"Looks like we found Archie," Hanson scoffed.


	6. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 6

_Standing in the hallway watching Banks leave with the children, he fought against the urge to run and stop the woman. But Reece had made it perfectly clear that without some type of evidence, they couldn't hold her. We're getting closer to solving your murder, Lydia. I can feel it. But he couldn't just let Banks walk away. Since Jo and Hanson were out in the field following up on clues, he felt that he had no choice but to do his own investigating. He had to follow her._

vvvv

Fearing that Banks may have gotten a bit of a lead on him, Henry opted for the stairs as Lucas had done earlier. He literally flew down them and found himself exiting the stairwell into the lobby. Looking around, he caught sight of Banks and the four children just outside the building in front of a waiting CPS van. Calming himself, he adjusted his clothing, smoothed his hair back and walked outside to stand in front of a Japanese food truck. As enticing as the smell of the food was, he had to keep watch on Deirdre Banks. Once the children boarded the van, the driver closed the door, hopped back in and drove off, leaving Banks alone on the sidewalk. She paid little attention to anything or anyone else as she hailed a cab and hopped in. Henry quickly stepped to the curb and hailed his own cab.

"Where t - ahhhhh," the cabbie yawned. "Ooo, sorry. Where to?"

Henry pointed ahead of them and commanded, "Follow that cab."

The cabbie sat up, reached over and started the meter. "Oh, you mean just like in the movies, huh?" He grinned excitedly, suddenly wide awake. "You got it, buddy." The cab lurched forward into traffic, zooming after Banks' zooming cab, forcing Henry's head back and pressing him deep into the seat cushions. How he longed for the leisure of riding his bicycle; or the serenity of walking.

vvvv

Lydia Andrews' apartment on East 65th Street ...

"You callin' the Doc?" Hanson asked as he grimly viewed Weingarten's dead body in the guest bathroom of Lydia Andrew's apartment. "Stabbed in the back just like his grandmother was." He looked at Jo and said, "This time they didn't leave the knife, though."

"Yeah," Jo replied, "and he bled out here. We should be able to pick up some better clues than from - Hey. Henry. We need you over here at Lydia Andrews' apartment...yeah...no, no...what? Henry, you are not a cop, I keep telling you!... No!..." She squeezed her eyes shut and growled out a sigh through clenched teeth, then schooled her features into that of irritated acceptance. "Okay...sure..." She ended the call and shoved the phone down into her pocket. "Whatever," she muttered, clearly upset over the conversation. Then, apologetically, she looked at Hanson.

"I'd better go," she sighed. "Henry's on the trail of a woman he believes to be Lydia's murderer. Too much is happening with this case at once!"

"That's ... a ... uh, good thing, though, right?" Hanson asked, one eyebrow up, the other down.

"Usually, yes." _Not when Henry insisted on putting himself into harm's way. Never mind that he would always survive and come back if..._ She was already backing away from him when she asked, "You got this?"

"Sure, yeah, go. I'll fill you in later," he assured her, waving her off with a hand. _Means I gotta call the Butterfly of Happiness, Dr. Washington, he realized, much to his dismay._ He'd rather deal with two Lucases and three Henrys rather than even a half of one Washington.

vvvv

Jo wheeled her police-issued vehicle expertly through traffic while in hands-free communication with Henry. "Where are you now?" She listened to Henry on the other end and repeated the address he gave her, committing it to memory. "Okay. Be there in a minute." At his response, she rolled her eyes and explained, "A minute, Henry, it's a term, just means I'll be there before you know it." She instructed him to keep the line open and stay in the cab until she arrived. It amazed her how much the man could exasperate her, wear her patience down to the nub, frighten her with his tendency to tempt danger by following up on hunches alone and still ... make her smile and thank the everlovin' day they'd met. Ohhh, when this case was solved and put away, she was going to have to sit down and really examine her feelings for him. Feelings? Yes, she had to admit it, she had feelings for this strange man. Jo felt that she had to find out if he had feelings for her, as well.

Finally, she found herself at the white, wood framed, three-story home on 22nd Street and 4th Avenue. She pulled up alongside the cab, caught Henry's eye and mouthed and pointed at the cab for him to 'Stay Put'. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it, rolled his eyes and nodded in grudging obedience. He watched uneasily as she double parked in front of the double-parked cab, exited the vehicle and darted across the street and up the stairs of the unimposing domicile. He was on edge as she knocked, identified herself, waited, then drew her weapon.

"Jo, be careful, please," he barely whispered to himself. He swallowed hard when she eased the door open and entered.

The 22-year-old cab driver, Ennis Spofford, had recently considered switching over to being an Uber driver. Right now, though, he was glad, proud, that his cab was involved in an official police action. He watched, fascinated by what he hoped would unfold into a real live shootout or maybe a perp being dragged out in cuffs and thrown into the back of the police car like on the "Cops" TV show. He shut off the meter and turned a gleeful grin to Henry in the backseat. "This is on me, buddy." Snickering, he hunched down and watched the house from his driver side window. "Whatcha think? Ten bucks say shots fired in a few."

The waiting finally broke Henry's patience and he blamed it on his concern for Jo's safety. But his annoyance over the abbreviated manner in which people chose to express themselves nowadays, he was sure, was also minutely to blame. Shoving a crisp $50 into the cabbie's hand, he then flung the door open and jumped out of the cab, ignoring the cabbie's shouted advice of 'I wouldn't go in there if I was you' and ran across the street. Taking the stairs two at a time, he cautiously entered the house through the wide open door.

The cabbie, suddenly alone, felt less sure about the situation but felt strangely committed to seeing it out to the end. More apprehensive and less gleeful than before, he continued to watch. Then an unsettling thought crossed his mind. What if the bad boyz win the battle, run out and try to jump into his cab? He pushed the door lock button, reached under his seat and retrieved his gun. He covertly surveyed his surroundings to ensure his movements went unnoticed, hugged the firearm close to him under crossed arms, then turned his attention back to the white house.

Inside the house, there was an ominous feel of stark stillness. Henry stealthily moved through the living room and into the kitchen. His heart almost stopped when he saw what appeared to be the feet of a person lying face down on the kitchen floor behind the island in front of the stove. He recognized the shoes, the turn of those ankles anywhere. "Jo," he whispered his eyes round with fear. Without another thought, he surged forward to aid her. At the same time, he saw a second pair of tinier feet wearing spiky, high-heeled shoes, then a woman's highly-piled bun on the top of her head. Dierdre Banks! On top of Jo! He quickly rounded the island and saw Jo's hands struggling against a leather strap, attached to a small, designer handbag, being tightened around her neck by the small, vicious woman.

"Let! Her! Go!" he grunted his demand through clenched teeth. Crouching down behind Banks, he grabbed both of her wrists and dug his fingers in until a screech emitted from her lungs. She released the strap and Jo fell forward, her face hitting hard against the marble floor. Henry was aware that Jo was panting for air and freeing her neck from the strap, but he concentrated on subduing Banks. They stood now, his hands still tightly gripping her wrists. She stomped down with her right leg, driving her spiky heel into his instep. His foot exploded with pain but he'd felt worse, much worse and he managed to pull her away from Jo and drag her to the other side of the kitchen island. She raised her left leg to stomp down on his left instep but he quickly sidestepped the assault. By doing that, though, he put his full weight on his right foot and the searing pain shot clear up his leg to his thigh. There was movement behind him to his right. Jo. She was coughing, trying desperately to get air into her lungs and to stand.

Banks was now making loud, guttural sounds, forming no distinguishable words but along the vein of cursing. Using his size and height as an advantage (and to avoid another spiky heel attack), he wrapped his arms around her waist, still gripping her wrists, and lifted her up and off of her feet. Her added weight and flailing legs, however, caused him to lose his balance from the now gut-wrenching pain in his right foot. They fell forward onto the hard, marble floor and Banks lay still underneath him. The impact had knocked her unconscious, he surmised, and possibly broken or fractured his left elbow. He used two fingers of his right hand to touch them against the pulse point on the side of her neck, finding a steady pulse. He thanked God that he had not caused another person's death, even accidentally in self-defense. He raised up off of her and scooted gingerly back and away from her, mindful to remove her spiky heels. Just in case. Exhausted, in pain and out of breath, he slapped the heels up onto the island's counter.

"Henry," Jo's weak, raspy voice came to him from his right.

He quickly turned in her direction and their eyes met, reflecting mutual relief. "Jo," he hoarsely whispered, "are you alright?" She nodded weakly, eyes closed, head bowed a bit.

"I, I think so." She coughed a couple of times and cleared her throat. "How 'bout you?" She was searching her pocket for her cell phone.

"I'm fine ... just - " he pointed to his right foot and winced. "Feeling a bit trounced upon," he chuckled. He took a couple more deep breaths. "But I'm fine."

She nodded, maintaining eye contact with him and at the same time, giving the 911 Dispatch the address and reason for the emergency. Once that was done, she placed the phone on speaker and laid it down on the island. She made her way slowly around the island and viewed Banks' still form on the floor. Something looked strange to her and she moved closer for a better look. Banks' scalp appeared to be peeling away from her face. "Henry, look at this," she pointed, her frown deepening. "Her scalp."

He pushed himself forward along the floor using his right hand and leaned in for a closer look. His mouth formed a silent O and he reared back up. "Not her scalp, Jo," he said, tugging it away even more from the side of her face. "Her, or, more correctly, His wig."

"Archie!" Jo exclaimed. She ghosted her fingers across the reddened area on her neck and added, "No wonder she was so strong." She dropped her hand and passed a smirk to Henry. "Thought I was a weakling there for a minute."

Henry smiled back at her. "You, Detective, are no weakling. You held your own in a life and death struggle with a maniac." He looked at Deirdre Banks aka Harvey Weingarten again, now groaning his way back to consciousness. "A true weakling would have succumbed much sooner, believe me."

They smiled at each other, oblivious to the fact that Banks had fully revived. They both were taken by surprise when he suddenly jumped up; much more nimble now that he was barefooted. Ignoring the blood trailing down from a nasty gash on the side of his head and a busted lower lip, he pointed a gun directly at Henry. Jo reached for her own gun but it wasn't on her, having been lost in the struggle earlier.

"Unh-uh, Detective," the creepy cross-dresser taunted in a high-pitched, nasally voice, "I got your gun." He aimed the gun at Henry's head, a look of crazed delirium on his face. "Your meddlesome friend is gonna pay for buttin' in on our ... heh, heh ... discussion."

Henry's heart raced but he managed to stay calm. Jo and the others, he realized, had believed his claim of immortality via death and immediate reviving in water, but none of them had yet witnessed it for themselves. Even though he was quite confident that he would return if the crazed man shot and killed him, he wasn't ready for Jo to see it. Not yet. Not ever, if he could help it. He ... had feelings for her beyond just partnership or even friendship. Feelings that could only be interpreted as being closer to... love. What poor timing for him to have realized it just then, though. If they were to have any relationship at all, he would want it to be as close to normal as possible, for her sake. For both their sakes. Her fear for him permeated the atmosphere in the room and became an almost tangible object. He both appreciated and regretted it at the same time. Jo wasn't like his first wife, Nora, who had not believed him when he'd confessed his immortality to her. Neither was she like his second wife, Abigail, who had accepted him after witnessing his death and revival. Jo had believed him without any proof of that aspect of his longevity. For that, he would always be grateful. And for that reason, he had to find a way out of this present situation. Distraction had always served him well in the past. Hopefully, it would again in this dire moment.

Staring intently at the crazed man with Jo's gun aimed at him, he calmly asked, "Jo, why do some little people have such high-pitched voices?"

Jo, at first confused by Henry's suddenly random question, soon caught on to what he was doing. "I dunno, Henry. Why do they?" She inched closer to Weingarten/Banks.

"Why, it's because of their smaller voice boxes, their shorter vocal cords." He watched Jo in his peripheral vision as she inched closer to the gunman.

"Well, that's very interesting. I never knew that," she replied, matching his calm, smooth delivery.

"Yes," Henry continued, "Think of the keys on a piano and when they strike the strings. The shorter strings produce the high-pitched tones. And, as with musical instruments, a smaller place for sound to resonate leads to a higher frequency sound wave and therefore a higher pitch."

The small gunman frowned and eyed Henry warily. "A piano? What is this?"

"That makes sense," Jo replied. She was so close now, but still not close enough.

"Stop this talk about ... just shutup. Shutup the both of you! Now! I'm gonna take you out first (indicating Henry) then her (swiping the gun the tiniest bit in Jo's direction)." A sinister smile tugged at his lips. "Just like I killed the others."

"What others?" Henry asked.

"That whiny crybaby, Lydia Andrews. She was gonna go to the cops on me. Her own grandson! After I tried to help her."

"You said 'others'. Who else did you kill?" Jo asked, praying that he wasn't aware of how close she now was to him.

He chuckled. No mirth in it at all. "My brother. He was like her. Like everybody else. Always trying to tell me not to do this or not to do that. It wasn't ethical. Wasn't legal." He blinked repeatedly while the small muscles in his face flinched in anger. "My brother may have been the 'normal' one, the one that everyone wanted to fawn over and be friends with - but I was the smartest one. Me! I figured out how to make big people into little people. Like me. Only littler and more vulnerable, more dependent and helpless. I changed 'em into kids!" He laughed out loud, his eyes bulging from their sockets. "I figured that out all by myself!"

Jo felt that she was close enough now. Just as she was about to pounce on him, a loud, authoritative voice boomed in their direction from the living room. "Drop The Gun, Scumbag!"

It distracted the gunman long enough for Jo to finally kick the gun out of his hand, sending it flying upward, then down onto the floor near Henry. He quickly reached out and scooched it over to him. Jo side kicked Weingarten in the stomach, knocking him backward and causing him to hit the back of his head onto the hard, marble kitchen floor. She quickly flipped him over onto his stomach and cuffed his hands behind his back. Turning her attention back to Henry, she knelt down beside him to survey his wounds. Not looking up, she asked, "What took you guys so long?" When there was no reply, she looked up at Henry and noticed a look of great amusement on his face. She quickly turned to look at the person who'd bellowed the order for the gunman to drop the gun. Frowning, she took the gun from Henry and rose, pointing it at the young man whose elation quickly turned to fright. "Drop the gun," she ordered.

Wide-eyed, he slowly bent down and placed the gun on the floor. "It's my gun, though. It's registered and everything."

"Kick it over here and back out of the house." She continued to give him the sternest cop face she could muster.

"Geez, I was just tryna help," he said backing away towards the door with his hands up. "And you cops should appreciate all the help you can get from the public."

"Jo, he ... he's my cab driver," Henry quietly informed her with a hint of laughter in his voice.

She nodded but kept her weapon trained on him as she kicked the gun he'd placed on the floor over to Henry. "I'm going to count to three, and you high tail it to your cab and get your butt out of here as fast as you can. Understood?" He nodded vigorously, hands still in the air, eyes widening even more.

"One! Two!" She stifled her laughter as he turned and ran down the stairs, jumped into his cab and peeled away. Thirty seconds later backup arrived along with two ambulances.

Jo and Henry gave their statements to unis and received first aid while the rest of the backup team cleared the house. Eventually, they and the gunman were transported by ambulance to the nearest hospital. Henry had refused further treatment, not wanting to make another permanent record for himself anywhere, but when Jo had also refused further treatment, the doctor in him had kicked in. It had taken some convincing but she had eventually relented and climbed into the ambulance with the EMT.

"You're hurt worse than I am, Henry. Your foot; you probably have some fractures or clean breaks in your arms. You and the perp hit that floor pretty hard."

"My injuries cannot be ... tended to ... in the same manner in which yours can. Please, go to the ER, Jo. Abe will pick - " He suddenly caught his mental error and altered his statement mid-sentence. "I mean ... Lucas. Lucas can pick me up." He'd lowered his head and admitted, "Lately, it would seem that I have been relying on the young man's assistance more than I ever anticipated."

She'd placed her hand on his cheek and softly told him, "I'm sure he doesn't mind, Henry. We all want to help you and Abe in any way we can," she reminded him.

He'd given her a soft smile of gratitude, then intensified his gaze into her eyes and she'd sighed and nodded, deciphering his earlier coded words. She would seek medical treatment in the normal manner, he would be healed in his usual, most unusual manner. "I entreat you," he'd said in a final attempt to convince her to leave his healing to himself and for her to seek what was necessary for her.

vvvv

Hanson bounded into the ER and darted worried eyes around until they lighted on her. "Jo!" Met with cross looks from the nurse behind the counter and a few others in the waiting room, he quickly muttered, "Sorry," and plunked down into a chair next to Jo. He squeezed her hand and then patted it several times. "Geez, Jo, I got the alert, Officer Down, and it matched your description and - "

"Well, you can see that I'm okay." She locked her eyes with his. "Okay?" Rolling her collar down a bit, she revealed the red, blue and purpling bruises that rung her neck like an angry-looking necklace. "Just bruised. That's all."

He suddenly realized that he'd been holding his breath and exhaled and inhaled deeply. "I, I was worried," he laughed nervously. "You take many chances, young lady."

"Detective," she corrected him, her lips ghosting a slight smile. "We're on duty."

He laughed softly and in a calmer voice said, "I'm surprised that Henry didn't beat me here. You know, the guy's weird but he's basically a good egg and," he shrugged, spreading his hands, "he's got a thing for you. And you got a thing for him, too, so why don't you guys just stop monkeyin' around and get together?"

A thing? Hanson thinks that Henry has 'a thing' for her? And she, likewise for him? If a big, strong meat-and-potatoes, no-mushy-stuff kind of guy like Hanson could recognize their attraction to each other, who else had, she wondered. Reese? Lucas? But then present circumstances brought her back down to the ground and her embarrassed surprise turned into seriousness. "He'll be back soon." She made eye contact with him and in a lowered voice, explained, "He was injured so he sought treatment somewhere else. I phoned Lucas so he could pick him up ... from the river."

"Ohhhh," he moaned, slapping his hands over his face and pulling them down. "Here we go, the Weirdocity Train just rolls along." Then he looked at her with resigned resolve. "Okay. My advice still stands. You jump on that train with him as soon as you can and ride it to - Petticoat Junction, I don't care where! You already bought the ticket when you fell for 'im."

The nurse behind the counter called her name for her to come pick up her pain medication prescription. Hanson's blatancy had left her speechless and blushing with embarrassment. She picked her jaw up off of the floor and retrieved her medication, shaking her head at him whenever she managed to catch his eye.

 _vvvv_

 _Previously, at Lydia Andrews' apartment on E 65th Street ..._

 _Trina Woods stood outside the apartment as ordered earlier by Detectives Martinez and Hanson. When the dead body was finally wheeled out and into the hallway, Hanson was not far behind._

 _"Who's that?" Trina asked._

 _"Harvey Weingarten looks like. We'll know for certain after a positive ID," he replied confidently._

 _"Impossible," she said, shaking her head._

 _"Waddaya mean 'impossible'?" he queried. "He looks just like his photo."_

 _"Well," she muffled a quiet laugh and shrugged her shoulders slightly._

 _"Well, what?" he asked impatiently. "Spit it out."_

 _"Harvey is a twin. That was his older brother, Herman."_

 _"And you can tell the difference between what looks like identical twins, how?" he challenged._

 _"I don't know how to say it nicely, but ... Herman was regular size. Harvey was considerably shorter and smaller. They're both some kind of geniuses, inventors, they said. But the size difference ... I think it made Harvey kinda jealous of his twin and ... maybe that's the reason he was so ... so ... "_

 _It suddenly dawned on Hanson. "So creepy," he whispered. Trina hunched her shoulders up and nodded in agreement. It was his turn to have a Henry Morgan-like flashback to the other day when he had supervised the transfer of Sally's and Jeffrey's custody to the CPS employee. A very short woman. At the time, he'd noticed how large the woman's hands were. And her gruff manner had troubled him because he was a father and knew how frightened and confused children could become when met with troubling circumstances. But also because he'd supervised these transfers before, too many times to comfortably count; but most of the CPS employees, mainly the females, had treated their young charges with at least a modicum of sympathy and respect. At the time, he'd figured that her personal life must suck so badly that she couldn't even pretend to be nice to the poor kids. She ...? He!_

 _"Holy Cow," he muttered under his breath. He had to get a hold of Jo with this new information. He reached for his phone but it was already buzzing. All color drained from his face as he read the Officer Down alert. The description matched Jo. His heart in his throat, everything blurred past him as he found himself suddenly in his car. He put the car in gear and lead-footed it towards the hospital. "Hang in there, Jo. Hang in there."_

vvvv

Back at the OCME ...

Lucas had enjoyed his lunch outing with young Abe more than he'd anticipated. Not only was the kid cute, he had a great imagination and sense of humor. Or perhaps it was the way he expressed his views from a child's perspective that evoked a smile or chuckle from adults. Great appetite, too. Lucas' grin widened as he recalled the double cheeseburger and large order of fries with a chocolate shake that the boy had ordered.

 _"Of course, I'm gonna eat it all," young Abe had said with a slight scowl. He lowered his voice and added, "I'd better eat it now 'cause after I'm ... big - old again ... I might not want it."_

 _"Why would you think that?" Lucas asked._

 _He thought for a second and then said, "I'll be runnin' the shop while Dad's at work and doin' a lot of other important things, so I'll probably be eatin' a lot of important food like brussels sprouts and prune juice. Yucky stuff like that."_

They'd spent the time enjoying their meals (Lucas had wound up helping him eat the large meal young Abe had knowingly ordered against his father's wishes and Lucas hoped Henry never found out). Young Abe had also shared some stories from his childhood with Lucas and in the process had shed some new light on Henry. Not surprisingly, it sounded as though he'd been and still was, a good father. The boy's stories spoke to his father's kindness, open-heartedness, his honesty, and how loving and giving he was. Abe, no matter what age, Lucas imagined, was very proud of his father and they loved each other dearly.

So many strange and wondrous revelations had come to light about the still mysterious immortal in the past few days. Lucas could tell that there were obviously some bad memories associated with being immortal ... with being Henry Morgan. But the years Henry had spent with Abe and Abigail had apparently produced some of the happier memories. He could almost envy Abe. His father would never die in his lifetime. Never. Not like his own father, who had died just two weeks before he'd graduated from college. It was a joyous occasion for all of his other classmates. Poignant and subdued for him and his mother and two sisters, who'd attended.

"Fun time over and it's back to work," he murmured to himself. After having escorted young Abe back to the Children's Room, he now studied the imaging reports on Lydia Andrews. In all the excitement of the past few days, he hadn't gotten a chance to bring up something that nagged at him about the condition of her body. She had been found wearing an adult woman's dress but no underwear or shoes. The dress had been deliberately ripped in the back and pulled down over the knife handle as if to imply that she'd been knifed through the dress. The evidence showed otherwise. The blade entering the body would have pushed some of the fabric into the wound. However, none had been found either inside the wound or on the blade.

"She must have been naked when she was killed. Probably in the kitchen (because of the cheese and fruit remnants she'd clutched in her hand), maybe not," he pondered, studying the Xrays and MRI. Neither her body nor the dress she'd been found wearing gave up any clues to the killer, much to his and Henry's frustration. God is in the details, he recalled once having said to Henry. "The details, the details, the details," he muttered to himself as he pored over the toxicology reports. He frowned when he realized he only had pages 1 through 4. Page 5 was missing because it had gone through the fax originally stuck to the back of Page 4. He now clearly saw the edge of Page 4 a bit skewed and just a sliver of Page 5 hiding behind it. He called over to the lab and advised them of their error. A much-chagrined lab assistant apologized and after a few moments, he was able to pick up Page 5 from the fax machine. "Got it, thanks!" He practically slammed the receiver back down into its cradle and hungrily pored over the report's new page for any new clues. He raised his eyebrows with a smile of surprise and said, "Now, _that's_ interesting."


	7. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 7

_A much-chagrined lab assistant apologized and after a few moments, [Lucas] was able to pick up Page 5 from the fax machine. "Got it, thanks!" [Lucas] practically slammed the receiver back down into its cradle and hungrily pored over the report's new page for any new clues. He raised his eyebrows with a smile of surprise and said, "Now,_ _ **that's**_ _interesting."_

vvvv

"Coal tar," Lucas said out loud to no one but himself. "Coal tar mixed in with the oil from the cheese." It had seeped into Lydia Andrews' right hand as she'd gripped the cheese and apple slices. Lucas' eyes were widening by the second as he sat upright and looked around the morgue. He had to share this little tidbit from the tox report's previously missing Page 5 with someone who could probably use it to advance the progress of the investigation into Lydia's death. Placing the page on top of the other four pages, he swallowed and closed his eyes to calm himself.

"Okay, Wahl, this could be big. Could help break the case wide open!" he whisper-shouted with a growing grin. "Doc. No, he's off on a romp of his own." Who to call? "Det. Martinez!" He reached for the phone and just as he did, it rang. The Caller ID displayed J MARTINEZ NYPD. "Speak of the devil," he said as he exhaled loudly. He picked it up just as the first ring ended.

"Detec ... yeah ... yeah, but I found ... Oh! Well, yeah, OK, OK, sure. Where? I mean, yeah, I know where ... No, I got this. Totally. East River. Pick up ... yeah, closing my trap right now ... Bye!" The young Asst. ME hung up the phone and placed both hands on the sides of his head, looking around the morgue again, nervously, this time. He made quick but awkward preparations for his departure and then loped out of the morgue to the elevators. _'Coming, Big Guy. Don't you_ worry. _Lucas Wahl to the rescue.'_

vvvv

Henry broke the surface of the East River's chilly waters gasping for air, as usual, naked, as usual, but not alone ... as usual. Once he got his bearings, he realized that he was in the middle of a large group of several other male swimmers. At first glance, they all appeared to be naked like him. But he soon realized that the group of about 30 men of varying ages ranging from teens to mid-80's, all wore either speedos or regular swim trunks. And, for the most part, they viewed him as an object of great curiosity and amusement. He made his usual way to shore with a butterfly stroke as they snickered at and teased him. Gratefully, he saw Lucas standing at the river's edge holding a large towel and a gym bag. As he grew nearer, Lucas threw the towel over his shoulder and waved slightly to him to attract his attention. He finally made it out of the water and walked gingerly over the slippery rocks, taking care to hide his private parts with both hands until he stood face-to-face with the young man. His ride, now that Abe was basically out of commission for now.

"Thank you, Lucas," Henry said, grabbing the towel with one hand and wrapping it quickly around his waist. He finished by tucking in the edge of the towel for a snug fit.

"Uh, sure, no problem, Doc," Lucas replied with bugged eyes. He craned his neck to look over and around his boss at the other swimmers. "Lucked out, huh? Popped up in the middle of a bunch of Strong Man triathletes ... " His voice trailed off, a bit of confusion passing over his face as he noticed the advanced age of many of the other swimmers. "Or something," he quietly added. Quickly turning his attention back to the Immortal, he told him, "Anyway, Det. Martinez asked me to pick you up." Both of them now walked quickly to Lucas' car.

"I am most appreciative, Lucas, for all your help. Not just for this but for taking time with my son earlier," Henry said with a big smile and patted him on the back. They both came to a halt as an older, portly man in his late 50's suddenly blocked their path. His thick shock of mostly gray hair still moist from the river, he scowled and thrust a business card at Henry.

"Listen, young fella, we don't mind you wanting to join in our fun, but we have an ironclad rule against swimmin' buck naked! Now, if you wanna do it right, call me," he gruffly advised him. In a milder, more fatherly tone, he leaned a little closer to Henry and said, "If you're tryin' to pick up women, this ain't the way to do it, son." The man glanced up at Lucas and, clearing his throat, scowled again. "You don't want to set a bad example for your kid brother, here." The man, Stephen Goodrich, per the name on his business card, straightened his stance and sucked in his protruding belly. "Army," he declared proudly and slapped a hand against his belly. "Teaches you discipline!" He nodded once and marched away with one last bit of advice. "You two would do well to sign up and find that out for yourselves!"

Lucas gave an exaggerated salute to the man's retreating form and Henry fought valiantly against the laughter that threatened to erupt from him. Once inside the car, they both let their laughter out, then looked at each other and simultaneously announced, "Hospital (Henry); Det. Martinez (Lucas)." While Lucas explained that Jo and Mike were on their way back to the precinct, Henry finished dressing in the car into the scrubs that Lucas had brought him from the morgue and some sneakers from the Lost and Found.

"Alright, then, we need to join up with the two of them," Henry replied. He had to make sure that Jo was alright and he also needed to let her see for herself that he was returned, healthy and whole. And Lucas had something to share with his boss concerning Lydia's case. Something that was, hopefully, a big break in bringing her killer to justice.

vvvv

"Dandruff?" Jo and Mike queried in tandem.

"Not just dandruff, but the medicated cream used to treat it," Henry grinningly advised them. "Coal tar is used in more than one over-the-counter treatment for seborrheic dermatitis."

"Dandruff," Mike smirked and shook his head. "Used to be it cost you a second date. Looks like in this case it'll cost somebody 30 years to life."

"Lucas was the one who caught it in the tox report," Henry stated proudly, patting him on the arm. "Not only that, but he saw that we'd received an incomplete tox report." Henry nodded and gave Lucas a quick nod and a smile.

"Oh, I just," he chuckled and blushed, "doin' muh job." His features calmed somewhat and he added, "You've, uh, been a bit distracted lately so it's no wonder that you might have missed something along the way." He looked around at each of the others. "We've all had quite a bit to distract us lately." His companions gave quiet acknowledgment to his statements.

"So," Jo began, "we find out who used that type of cream for their (she turned to Henry for the correct pronunciation of seborrheic dermatitis) we find out who prepared that particular snack for the foster kids and that could lead us to ... No, Harvey Weingarten already confessed to Lydia's murder." Her brow knitted as she looked confusedly from one to the other.

"Yes, but even Abraham realized that Weingarten could not have handled him and the others alone. There must have been others," Henry asserted.

The foursome stood in Henry's office as they discussed the two connected cases of Lydia's murder and the de-aged children with both the door and blinds closed.

"Dandruff!" Mike snapped his fingers and let out a loud "Ha!"

"Stand back," Jo mockingly warned Lucas and Henry. "Looks like Mike is having another one of your Sherlockian flashbacks, Henry."

"Grin all you want," he said. "Remember when we interviewed Trina Wood?"

"The manager of the highrise condos on East 65th Street," she nodded.

"She ran her fingernail up the back of her head," Mike continued.

"She ... smoothed her hair. A nervous reaction to being questioned by the police in a murder case," Jo reasoned.

Mike shook his head, grinning. "No. My wife, Karen, does the same thing. When she's out in public and doesn't want to just ... scratch, you know, like a monkey (her words, not mine), she does the dainty, little ladylike thing of running her long fingernail over the itchy area. And I noticed dandruff flakes on the back of her collar." He smiled with his mouth open and breathed in deeply a couple of times. "You know, this Henry-thing ain't half bad." Jo smiled and guided him towards the office door, advising him that they needed to speak with Trina Wood again. Mike was enthralled with his new "ability". From this moment on, he vowed, he would use more than notes, tips and gut instinct to catch criminals. As Jo half-pushed, half-tugged him out of the morgue and over to the elevators, he smiled at Henry and tapped a finger to his head. "Using what you already know, eh, Doc? Ya live and ya learn."

"Indeed, Detective," Henry laughingly replied. Although some may live longer and accumulate more knowledge than others, he wryly thought.

vvvv

"You lied to us, Ms. Wood," Jo tersely informed her. "You led us to believe that you knew nothing about Lydia Andrews' disappearance and probably her murder." She emphasized the last three words and leaned her face closer to the building manager.

"Yeah, you're a pretty good little actress, there," Mike added sarcastically as he paced behind Jo and glowered at the woman who sat quietly in the chair at the small table across from them, her eyes lowered, surveying the table top. He scoffed and said, "You should be on Broadway with that act."

"Make it easier on yourself, Trina," Jo urged her; the edge of anger unmistakable in her voice. "Tell us what we need to know." She waited for the silent woman to respond. "Were you involved in any way with - "

"I told Herman that he and his brother, Harvey ... what they were doing ... was wrong." She brought her eyes up to lock with Jo's and knitted her brow. "It wasn't natural," she continued barely above a whisper. "These people had lived their lives, they had earned the right to be who they were, happy, healthy or not." She suddenly leaned forward. "Turning them into ... " she gulped once or twice but continued. "Turning them into children was cruel. That meant they'd have to go through childhood, puberty, angsty teen years and who knows what kind of troubled adult years all over again! Not to mention that their families would be heartbroken wondering whatever happened to Grandma or Grandpa or Aunt and Uncle so-and-so." She waved a hand in the air then clamped it over her trembling lips. Looking at Jo again, she shook her head slowly from side to side. "I only tried to help them. Somebody had to make sure they, the kids were fed and had clothes to wear. Shoes. Baths. Neither of those - pinheads - had given one single thought to any of that. And once they were children again and they discovered they had no memory of having ever been an adult ... I mean, they were all so scared. They cried for their parents, they wanted to go home." Trina closed her eyes and a few tears escaped, rolling down her cheeks. "One of the boys mentioned that he was missing a field trip with his class. And one little girl just wanted her Raggedy Ann doll." She laughed hollowly. "Same doll my mother had when she was a little girl. But there was one boy, Abner, Albert, something like that, he was trying so hard to be brave. He tried to help the others stay calm, too." She smiled slightly at the remembrance of him. "He'd probably been a boy scout when he was a kid. Somebody had taught him well."

Jo and Mike exchanged knowing looks. "So you prepared meals for the kids. Is that how your medicated dandruff cream got mixed in with some of the cheese and apples that Lydia Andrews came in contact with?"

Trina nodded. "I suppose so. I guess I scratched my head and kept on chopping."

"Where, exactly, did this take place?" Mike asked.

Trina responded with the address of the white, wood-framed house on 22nd Street and 4th Avenue. The same house where Harvey Weingarten had been taken into custody after he'd attacked both Jo and Henry. "It's a foster home run by Myrna Scoggins. She's a friend of my Aunt Marjorie's."

Jo leaned forward again, her hands clasped in front of her. "Trina, were you there when Lydia was killed? And did you help cover it up by dumping her body in another part of the city?"

Trina wiped away her tears and fought to calm herself. Her eyes downcast again, she replied with a shaky voice, "Yes. I was there." She recounted how Lydia had been bathing and suddenly had found herself reverted to her old age self. Lydia, confused as to her surroundings, had dried herself off and wandered into the kitchen. When she'd recognized Trina from her condo building, it seemed that the cloud of dementia quickly overtook her thinking. She had grabbed the cheese and apples that Trina had been chopping and had angrily accused Trina of holding her against her will so Trina could steal her monthly pension check. Lydia's grandson, Harvey, had sneaked up behind her at the mention of the police and killed her - his own grandmother - to silence her.

Trina lifted her eyes up briefly to meet Jo's then quickly lowered them back down. She sniffed and continued, "I found a dress in the closet that belonged to Myrna. Figured it would fit Lydia." Her shaky voice grew louder as she stated, "They were just going to dump her like ... like a bag of trash. Naked, I ... just ... I was just trying to help." She looked imploringly at both detectives. "Don't you see? I was just trying to help."

"When you say 'they', who are you referring to?" Jo pressed.

Trina sighed and replied, "Myrna and Harvey."

"Do you have any idea where this Myrna is now?" Mike asked.

"Probably at the bingo hall with my aunt," she wearily replied.

Jo pushed a yellow pad and pencil across the table to her. "Write it all down." She rose from her chair and she and Mike exited the room. Trina pulled the pad closer to her, lifted the pencil and gathering her thoughts, eventually began writing. The more she thought, the more and faster she wrote.

Lt. Joanna Reece and the two ME's watched on the other side of the two-way mirror. They turned to Jo and Mike as they crowded in with them in the small viewing area.

"Look at her go," Lucas marveled. "She's gonna write a little novel." _'All this would make a great short film. A great feature-length film. A blockbuster! If only ...' sigh._

"Well, sounds like she's got a lot to own up to," Jo flatly remarked. "Unis are headed over to the bingo hall on 49th and Stevens to pick up Myrna Scoggins and Marjorie Stanton. Trina had told us earlier that her aunt had nothing to do with this, but that remains to be seen."

"Didn't offer her a deal," Reece stated more than queried.

"She didn't ask," Jo dryly replied. She looked at the others and shrugged. "We read her rights to her."

Trina Wood had waived her right to remain silent and also her right to counsel. She now regretted that mental lapse brought on by her own emotional distress, but she realized that there was another ace in the hole for her. Her feverish writing slowed, then ceased. When she lifted her eyes up and tapped the pencil against her lips, the four observers on the other side of the glass realized that Trina may know even more than she'd just divulged to them. Catching the attention of the uniformed policewoman standing near the small room's doorway, she asked if the two detectives could return. "There's more they need to know," she said, facing the two-way mirror.

vvvv

An abandoned building in the warehouse district ...

The two detectives and two ME's slowly entered the darkened, cavernous structure. Both Jo and Mike had their guns drawn and their flashlights aided their stealthy exploration of the building's large expanse. Three-quarters of the way in, they spotted a small, closed off portion created with tall dividers. Inside, there were five sleeping cots, an empty waste basket, and a small, three-tiered bookshelf with a few toys. Some of them dated back to the 1940's, others were no longer manufactured since the late 1950's. A portable clothes rack hugged the far wall with children's clothing, the style of which hailed from an era that mirrored those of the toys. Independently of each other, they realized that this must be the small "room" that Abe had referred to as where he and the others had been held.

Henry surveyed the small room with a growing anger. One of the toys caught his attention and his anger blazed white hot. A Superman doll, complete with the Clark Kent suit, hat and eyeglasses caused him to grit his teeth. The fiends who'd brought his son to that hovel had probably purchased that toy in an effort to placate him. Abe had spent hours playing with that particular toy when he was a child. Henry wanted to wring their necks for what they'd done to his boy. Trina Wood's words had stung his ears. They'd cried for their parents. They'd cried to be allowed to just go home. The poor children, he lamented. For all intents and purposes, they were now children. And they'd been abducted, frightened and abused. His son's future was a total mystery. Would he forever remain a child and never grow old like some modern version of a Peter Pan? Would he revert like Lydia Andrews had? Why hadn't Sally or Jeffrey reverted yet and what would become of them? What was to become of his son? He picked up the toy Superman and flung it across the room where it landed softly onto one of the cots. "Bastards!" he hissed.

"Henry," Jo shushed him with a frown. She quickly made her way over to him and whispered. "I know you're upset, but we don't want to spook whoever might be here. We want to catch them, right?"

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply to calm himself. He quickly nodded and said, "You're right. Sorry."

Mike had left the small room to explore the rest of the warehouse with Lucas but he now returned. Standing just outside the door, he stated, "We found some big, mechanical thing back here. Looks like a cross between an MRI machine and a superconductor."

Henry and Jo quickly exited the small room and followed him to the back wall. Mike's layman-like description of the large contraption was going to prove to be more accurate than he or the others realized.


	8. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 8

_Mike had left the small room to explore the rest of the warehouse with Lucas but he now returned. Standing just outside the door, he stated, "We found some big, mechanical thing back here. Looks like a cross between an MRI machine and a superconductor."_

 _Henry and Jo quickly exited the small room and followed him to the back wall. Mike's layman-like description of the large contraption was going to prove to be more accurate than he or the others realized._

vvvv

"Basically, what it looks like they've managed to do is assemble a 2.3 million electron volt beta particle accelerator," Lucas said while snapping pictures of the large, metallic, cigar-shaped contraption. He leaned into the deep circular opening at the end of what appeared to be a conveyor belt and snapped several more times with his cell phone.

"Wonder where they got _their_ 400 pounds of translator steel and 22 miles of copper wire from since Westinghouse no longer exists," he scoffed while slowly walking around the contraption making a video recording of it.

"Exactly what _is_ this thing?" Mike asked, his brows knitted, as he took in the full view of it.

Henry and Jo crept closer to the large mechanical object but he much closer than she. He marveled wide-eyed at the gleam of the whitish-gold color on the outside of the circular portion and a muted gray at the front of the opening. A patient table was affixed to the conveyor belt. His hands gently smoothed over each portion that he surveyed. He bent forward and craned his neck to view the inside of the opening where lay the scanner and both the magnetic and radio frequency coils. His eyes remained trained on it as he walked around it to view its entirety.

Jo's eyes adjusted more to the dim light and she stealthily approached what appeared to be a large light switch. She pressed it and the large machine lit up inside and whirred to life.

"No!" Henry warned loudly, pointing a hand at her. "Shut that off. Hurry!" Jo quickly complied and the darkness enveloped them once again. Moments later, their eyes adjusted again to the dim light.

"Sorry, didn't mean to yell," he apologized breathlessly, "but we don't yet know its full operating procedures and capabilities. Wouldn't do for any of us to walk out of here as children, ourselves." Although, he wasn't quite sure that he would be affected by the machine.

"Hey. Guys." They turned their eyes to Lucas, who held up a journal with a worn, leather binding. "Look what I found; might be their notes." He pocketed his cell phone in the back pocket of his jeans and tugged at the small, brass lock on the front of it. "Tough to get into," he grunted as his fingers worked unsucessfully to open the lock. "Just like my sister's diary." He suddenly froze, regretting his slip of the tongue.

"I mean, we need a key," his voice squeaked, "to unlock it." He shrank from Henry's reproachful look while Jo smirked and rolled her eyes.

"Lemme have a crack at it," Mike said, holding out his hand. Lucas gladly handed it to him, happy to have the spotlight off of him for the moment. Mike dug down into his pants pocket and brought out a keyring that had a small jackknife attached. "Comes in handy during our camping trips," he grunted as he worked the small blade into the lock and it popped open. Smiling, he handed it back to Lucas, who took it and promptly passed it to Henry.

Henry took the journal from Lucas; a journal that looked not unlike his own journal of reawakenings, as he called it, and opened it. "Yes. This does appear to be an account of their experiments. Herman, Harvey and ... " He looked up at them, astonished, "Trina Wood." They gathered around him to gain a view of the notes themselves as he slowly read the first couple of pages.

"I don't understand any of that, Henry," Jo admitted impatiently. "Let's get these notes deciphered."

"It's all Greek to me, too," Mike said, echoing Jo's sentiments. "Looks like Ms. Wood is more than just an actress, though," he said sardonically as he viewed the complicated wordings and formulations on the page. "She's some kinda goofy genius, too."

"She would be the one, then," Henry realized, closing the journal, his eyes darting around as he processed his thoughts. "Quite possibly the only one who could successfully right the wrong of nature done against my son and the other two."

"Um, guys, uh, what do we do with this ... whatever it is?" Lucas asked. "It's not exactly gonna fit into an evidence bag."

"Yeah," Mike agreed and pointed out, "the way it's all hooked up already. Best to leave it that way and get the kids down here ASAP." He looked at Henry for confirmation. "Right, Doc?"

Before he could respond to Mike, Jo began to walk away from them. "Where are you going, Jo?" Henry called after her.

"To bring the actress back here for her closeup, Mr. DeMille," she jokingly replied.

"Need some help?" Mike called after her.

"No," she replied as she continued toward the doorway, "Stay here and keep this safe. Be back as soon as I can." With that she disappeared out of the warehouse and distantly, they heard her car's engine rev and drive away.

Henry turned around, opened the journal and laid it down on the machine's patient table. He wished desperately to fully understand the text, much more complicated than in his own journal. This level of scientific exploration and knowledge far exceeded his own and he'd always considered himself to be a man of great intelligence. Reversing the inexplicably unheard of process on his own or even with Lucas' help, was out of the question until he could understand the forward process of it. A sigh of frustration left him as he straightened up and stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back. He walked slowly around the machine again with pursed lips and a worried expression.

Mike and Lucas watched him, sympathy and helplessness reflected on their faces. They could only imagine what was going through their immortal friend's mind.

Mike regretted, also, that he had at first dismissed the claims of both Henry and his son. He'd cared only to cling to his normal view of the world and the laws of physics and had preferred to believe that they had either been lying or insane. Both of them. Well, Henry insane and Abe lying. Now, he only wanted to help but he'd struggled valiantly to get a C- in Chemistry in high school. What in the world, he thought, could he do to help them in this situation? He squared his shoulders and fingered his weapon. Guard them with my life, he concluded. He was a cop, after all, and a damn good one.

Lucas had his own regrets. If he had only pursued a medical degree in college instead of theater and film production! He might be of more help to his boss at the moment. Instead, he could only offer the best of his assisting abilities. And he realized that he did have a little more knowledge than the others about particle accelerators and magnetic flux. _'Don't worry, Big Guy, we'll get you and your son through this.'_

Having completed the short journey around the machine, Henry rejoined the two men, a sheepish look on his face. "I believe that I overreacted when Jo pushed the on switch for this machinery. Most likely, we were in no danger from it because all of the life altering changes occur inside the chamber."

"It would have saved time if we could have had Trina brought here instead of Jo driving all the way back to the precinct to get her." Mike explained to Henry. "But we have to keep as much of our findings in this case under wraps."

Henry nodded with a grateful smile. "Of course. I understand." He knitted his brow, suddenly realizing something, and studied Mike. "Detective," he began, "were missing person's reports ever found for either Sally or Jeffrey?"

"Um, no," Mike replied, his own brow furrowing. "We were so caught up in - " He stopped and pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and punched in a number. After a moment or two, the party answered his call.

"Yeah, this is Det. Mike Hanson," he began. "Check to see if an MPR was ever filed on Sally Gant and Jeffrey Morrison." He waited and nodded. "Yeah, the two kids who couldn't remember where they lived, yeah, them, and get back to me. Put a priority on it." He nodded again and said, "Great. Bye."

"Their families will have to be notified," Henry quietly observed.

"That is, if they still have any," Lucas pointed out. "We don't know how old they're both really supposed to be. They could have been 80 or 90, for all we know before they got zap-, altered."

"Yes, there are toys and children's clothes in that small room where they were held, some of which reflect an earlier time period from when Abraham was born," Henry recalled.

Mike moved back towards the small room and pointed to it. "In here?" he asked as he quickly entered it, Henry close behind. They searched the room for more clues that might uncover the identities of the adults altered into children who had once inhabited it but they were coming up empty. It appeared that their captors had been very careful to leave no written notes or clues in the room as to their identities.

Henry eyed the Superman toy again on one of the cots. When he picked it up, memories of his little son playing for hours with the simple toy cascaded back to him. A smile crept across his lips as he recalled the Christmas morning of Abe's fifth birthday when it had become his favorite present. And his favorite toy for several more years. He'd kept it, although, he'd long since abandoned playing with it, and finally gifted it to a neighbor's young son right before he'd left for the Marines and boot camp. A familiar smell caught his attention, causing Mike and him to cough.

"Guys, we gotta get out of here," Lucas warned them, greatly alarmed. "Fire!"

The two men ran out of the small room and caught sight of the large machinery already engulfed in a blaze.

"Fire extinguisher!" Henry yelled, unwilling to leave the contraption that might provide the only way out of his son's situation. "There's no sprinkler system?" he yelled over the roar of the flames.

"No!" Lucas yelled back, tugging at him. "I already looked. When Det. Martinez pushed the on button, it must have given it just enough juice to fry the wiring system."

"C'mon, Doc, we gotta get outta here. Now!" Mike and Lucas dragged Henry by the arms and he finally ran willingly out of the warehouse with them. Once outside, Mike called 911 and apologized to Henry for doing so.

"No, no, you must do it," Henry told him. "If the fire spreads, it could endanger other structures and lives."

The firetrucks arrived about three minutes after Mike's 911 call and the firefighters piled out and proceeded to fight the fire. The building was fully engulfed by then, though. Henry realized that the quick spread of the fire could only be attributable to faulty wiring and the aged timbers and flammable furniture and debris in the building.

Mike's phone rang and he quickly answered it after viewing Jo's name on the Caller ID. "Jo, what's up?" He craned his neck from side to side and looked up the street to the right of the building. "Okay, we're on our way." He ended the call and repocketed his phone.

"C'mon," he told the ME and his assistant, "Jo's just up the street here." They followed him to Jo's car and were surprised to find her alone.

"Where's Norma Desmond?" Mike asked sarcastically.

"She lawyered up, posted bail," Jo replied, frustration and anger in her voice. "She didn't go back to her office on East 65th and doesn't answer the cell phone number she gave us." As the three men piled back into the car, she caught Henry's eye in the rear view mirror.

"I'll drop you off at the precinct so you can pick up Abe." He nodded and managed a smile. Turning to Mike, she said, "We've got to hunt her down. Lieu is putting out a silent BOLO to help keep all this on the down low."

Mike nodded. "If she's spotted, Henry, they know not to approach, just identify."

Lucas, concerned, looked at Henry, then from one detective to the other. "But ... doesn't she know that we need her?" He didn't know quite how to put it without upsetting his boss even more than he already was. "How are Abe, Sally, and Jeffrey going to get back to their original states? Doesn't she care about the damage she's done to them? What kind of a monster is she?" he angrily demanded.

Tears of anger smarted at Henry's eyes and he swallowed his emotions, not wanting to break down in front of his colleagues. But Lucas' question echoed through his mind and a few of his own. Where was Trina? And what was to become of his son and the others if they couldn't find her and the machine was beyond repair?


	9. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 9

The bullpen's night shift at the 11th Precinct may have prompted a change in personnel, but it did little to stave off the influx of the criminal element. Perps processed in the daytime held little distinction from their nighttime counterparts. Mischief and murder seemed to rule the hearts and minds of criminals no matter when the sun set or rose. But one important rule of crime solving demanded that a certain amount of emotional detachment be maintained while investigating a crime and its suspects. Not only had Lt. Joanna Reece and her two lead detectives, Jo Martinez and Mike Hanson, violated that rule BIG time, they were allowing their emotions to move the Lydia Andrews murder investigation along, now linked to the human de-aging case, at the cost of all their other cases.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it, the news media's coverage of the warehouse fire that Mike, Henry and Lucas had escaped from earlier now evoked rampant speculation as to the intended purpose of the large apparatus found there. In the wake of 9/11, Reece was now pressured by the Mayor's office on down to come up with some answers. Quick. Like yesterday. How was she supposed to do that and keep Henry and his son away from the scrutiny of the press or her superiors?

"My office," Reece directed Jo and Mike once they entered the bullpen and approached their desks. They breathlessly entered and prepared for an information sharing session. The fact that Trina Wood was an apparent co-inventor of the de-aging machine meant that she could hold the key to returning Abe, Sally, and Jeffrey to their original states. Reece, in turn, informed them that the silent BOLO on Trina Wood had been upgraded.

"We also have these." She handed two missing person's reports to them.

"Our ten-year-old Sally Gant is a DNA match for Sally Beekers, age 77. Reported missing five weeks ago by her husband, Tom." Jo looked up from the report and pointedly stared at her two companions. "Their address is the same as Lydia Andrews'. And, according to this report, Sally is a chronic asthmatic, disappeared without her medication."

"No sign of her having a breathing problem whenever we saw her," Reece stated.

"This MPR is for Jeffrey Morrison, 67; a match for our little Jeffrey," Mike shared after skimming over the report. "Widower ... Vietnam vet ... Marines," he stated, in a respectful tone.

"Uh, his granddaughter, Lisa McBride, reported him missing nearly six weeks ago. According to this, her grandfather had just about lost his eyesight but otherwise was in pretty good physical condition." He dropped his hand, still holding the report and sighed. "He last lived on the second floor of Lydia Andrews' building. Moved in two months ago, went missing two weeks after that. Looks like that building managed by Trina Wood might be Ground Zero for farmin' out disabled elders to a bunch of loonies who de-aged them," he abruptly declared.

"Okay, they may have had some kind of debilitating diseases," Jo said, "but as far as I know, Abe was in pretty good health even though he'd complained a bit about lumbago and sciatica." After a few more moments, she added, "Henry had mentioned that Abe had started snooping around there on his own when the investigation into Lydia's disappearance had stalled."

"He could have stumbled onto something, gotten too close, if he'd questioned Margaret Stanton, Trina's aunt," Mike speculated.

"Well, at least they didn't kill him, thank God," Reece offered. "Where are Sally and Jeffrey now?" Reece asked. "They could be in danger - we have to find them."

Mike closed his eyes and cringed. "They were released to that crazy bug, Weingarten, when he was in drag, the same day we'd found and questioned them along with Henry's son."

"Contact CPS. We need to find them," Reece ordered. The urgency and concern in her voice resounded with the other two. "At least we know that Abe is safe."

The call to CPS was made and the discussion turned to the warehouse fire. Reece noted that the cause of the blaze had not yet been determined.

"Probably take a while for FD's Arson Squad to rule one way or the other," Jo speculated.

"Speaking of which," Reece said with a half-smile of annoyance, "FD is pretty upset that you three guys (nodding at Mike) vacated the scene of the warehouse fire without first checking in with him."

"Checking in," Mike grumbled, "He's not the only one's out there on the job."

Jo, concerned for time, gently interrupted. "Lieu, Mike and I are really anxious to try to find Trina Wood." She couldn't help but remember the look of inner turmoil on Henry's face when they'd first arrived back at the precinct. He'd quickly left them to go pick up Abe from the Children's Room, making a determined effort to keep his emotions in check for his son's sake.

 _"I can't let Abraham know that anything is amiss," Henry had told her._

Amiss? The machine, Abe's way out, was most likely destroyed. She blinked back tears of concern and anger, and somehow managed to stay focused on Reece and Mike.

The lady Lieutenant raised an eyebrow at her before replying. "Cyber Crimes is putting her through the facial recognition system as we speak," she drew out.

"But we all understand what we have to do concerning the good doctor and his son, right?" They all nodded and realized it was going to be a daunting task. "And as far as Trina Wood goes - " Her desk phone ringing cut her off. She answered it and shot a concerned look at the two detectives, then thanked the caller and quickly hung up.

"That was CPS. Myrna Scoggins ran another foster home next door to the one where Weingarten was taken into custody. Sally and Jeffrey were placed there," she finally replied, standing and leaning over her desk.

"Henry had mentioned that Abe said they were moved from the warehouse at one point and they woke up in the basement of a house." She considered aloud that it may have been in the basement of that very house. A complete search of the original foster home had uncovered no evidence that other than Lydia Andrews, no other children had been in the house for quite some time.

The Lieutenant poised her finger over the intercom button on her desk phone and looked up at Jo and Mike. "This is stretching past your shifts but I think you two should get over to that foster home soon as you can. I'll arrange for backup. Go!"

vvvv

"Why can't people do their dirty business between the hours of 8 AM and 5 PM?" Mike grumbled as he and Jo sped in his assigned car toward the foster home. He'd insisted that he drive because Jo looked like "death on a Ritz" from exhaustion and lack of sleep.

"Long day," Jo smirked, sipping her coffee. "We start at 9 AM, though."

"Yeah, fat lot these perps care about it," he snapped back as he blew out a heavy sigh and exited the freeway. "You let the Doc know?"

She shoved the empty cup down into the car's cup holder and shook her head. "He's got his hands full for right now. We'll let him know later if we find anything significant."

"He must be on pins and needles waitin' to hear if Trina's been located." Mike couldn't help but empathize with their ME. If it were me, one of my kids, I'd be tearin' this town apart lookin' for her."

"There it is," he said pulling up to the curb. He and Jo jumped out of the car and quickly ran up to the door and rang the bell. After a second ring, they exchanged looks and drew their weapons.

"You hear that?" Mike asked. Of course, he'd heard nothing but Jo realized that he was setting up justification for a forced entry.

"Yeah," she replied, smirking. "Sounds like a baby crying. We'd better go in."

Mike kicked the door a couple of times, breaking the lock, and the door swung open. He and Jo, guns drawn, crept inside. Their backup arrived, some of which promptly set up a perimeter while others joined the detectives in clearing the rooms in the house. A padlocked door in the kitchen appeared to lead to the basement. They stepped aside as a uni cut the lock with large bolt cutter. Once the door was opened, the uni stepped back and followed them down the steep, narrow staircase, Mike in front, Jo close behind.

Mike had turned on the light switch at the top of the stairs which shed more light into the dank area. As they stepped off the stairs and onto the basement floor, they found an empty sleeping cot similar to the ones found in the small room in the warehouse that had burned down. Their breaths caught in their throats when they saw Sally and Jeffrey lying motionless in two other cots.

"Call 911!" Jo shouted as she and Mike scurried over to the two lifeless-looking forms.

The uni who'd followed them down into the basement quickly made the call and during a 360 degree scope of the room, something caught his eye.

"Detectives?" Pointing, he directed their attention to what looked like a much smaller version of the large machine that had been destroyed in the warehouse fire. "Whaddaya think that thing is?"

Jo and Mike were left speechless at the sight of the machine and its implications. Not wanting to give anything away, though, they simply shrugged and shook their heads but instructed him to wait outside the house so he could direct the EMT's to the children, who appeared to be in a drug-induced slumber.

vvvv

Meanwhile, at Abe's Antiques ...

Henry and Abe were just finishing kitchen cleanup after dinner. Pizza may not have been the best choice for a growing (?) boy but the marketing, usually attended to by adult Abe, had been a bit neglected for the past few days.

"My apologies, again, Abraham," Henry told his son as he finished sweeping the floor. "Tomorrow we'll have real food. I promise."

"S'okay, Dad," Abe chirped, "it was delicious." He folded the dish towel and hung it over the faucet as his mother had often instructed him to do when he'd helped her with the dishes. He bit his lower lip at the memory, then stepped gingerly out of the kitchen into the sitting room and watched his father complete his task.

Henry made sure everything was back in its place and turned off the kitchen light. He joined Abe in the sitting room and they walked over to the sofa and sat down.

"What would you like to do now, Abraham?" Henry asked, looking down at him and smiling. "We can watch TV if you like." Not the news, though. Maybe something less serious was airing on the Re-Run Channel, some old 50's western or comedy. Not the news and certainly, nothing contemporary.

"Sure, that'd be fine." While Henry searched the channels with the remote, the boy eyed him pensively. Then, as if gathering his courage, licked his lips and asked, "Dad ... ?"

"Yes, son?" Addressing his boy that way made him feel so good inside. Over the years, he had forced himself to call his son by his given name. It wouldn't do for him to make the mental error of referring to him as "son" in front of anyone who knew nothing of their true relationship. But for now, even in public, it was acceptable for them to use the personal, familial designations with each other.

"What would happen if ... I didn't go back?"

A re-run of "The Honeymooners" was just beginning on the chosen channel but Henry hit the mute button on the remote and set it down on the coffee table. He sat back with his arm around Abe and asked, "Go back?"

"Yeah. If I didn't go back to being - old." He side-eyed his father, not knowing what his reaction might be, his little heart pounding. "I could stay here with you and ... you could raise me all over again." He suddenly shifted his body and turned to face the immortal Dad. "I promise I won't do all the dumb stuff again that you told me I did, honest. Cross my heart and hope to - "

"Abraham!" Henry's voice boomed as he interrupted him, appalled at what others felt was an innocent, playful pledge. In a quieter tone, he instructed him, "Never say that again. It isn't cute and it isn't funny." No longer interested in the TV program, he turned to face his son.

"And why on earth would you want to abandon the life you had with your business, with your friends and with Fawn?" This was totally out of the blue, his son's wish to remain a child, and maybe it shouldn't have been, but he wasn't quite prepared to answer his questions. He'd just assumed ... well, apparently, his assumptions were wrong.

Abe frowned a bit, thinking through his response. "Maybe I liked her when we were both old, but ... and I'm sure she's still real nice as a grown up lady, but ... this is a way for you and me to have more time with each other." He watched his father for any reaction, any reply.

"I could grow up again with you and we could have a great time. Again. And you wouldn't have to worry about me kickin' the bucket - " He stopped himself at his father's reproachful look. "Sorry. But you wouldn't have to worry about me for a long time." His dimpled cheeks puffed out the way they always did when his smile was broadest.

Wouldn't that be wonderful, Henry thought, if he and his boy could enjoy another lifetime together? The idea of it was so enticing that he felt himself salivating. It would be like a dream come true. But there were dreams and then there was reality. As much as he would like to manipulate his son's lifeline, it didn't seem right.

"Abraham," he quietly began, "what if this process they employed to change you back into a child, means that you would _remain_ one ... for the rest of your life? For - forever?"

Abe sat up straighter, his eyes widened with surprise at the absurd possibility. "Gosh, hadn't thought about that!" His eyes shifted back and forth as he frowned, then his face lit up again. "What if it doesn't happen that way? What if I just grow up normally again? Nobody knows!"

"You're right, son, nobody knows. And that's the problem. There are too many variables ... too many things that could happen that we simply have no way to prepare for." He sighed as he watched the boy's enthusiasm deflate, his apparently well-thought-out plan now on the ash heap.

Lips pursed and his face contorted into a worried frown, Henry stroked Abe's hair, his hand resting on the back of the boy's head. "There is nothing more I would rather have than a chance to raise my boy again. I love you, Abraham, more than you'll ever know. You know that, don't you?" His expression shifted between a myriad of emotions, two of them pride and sadness.

Abe nodded and his voice cracked a bit as he replied, "Yeah."

Henry swallowed and searched for the right words. "And ... there's no guarantee that you would live to a ripe old age again. Even if you did age normally. The laws of nature have worked against me for two centuries and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish for a normal life. I don't want you to have to live a cursed existence, Abraham. Don't you see? As much as possible, we have to learn to live within the normal constraints of life. It isn't wise to tamper with these types of things. It never ends well."

"Now, you've been strong and brave throughout this whole ordeal. I'm asking you to trust me. Can you hold out a little longer until we see this through to the end?"

Abe lowered his eyes, a wan smile on his lips. "Yeah, I guess I understand what you're sayin', Dad." He sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. "I gotta be put back together like Humpty Dumpty."

Henry grinned broadly at his son's simplistic way of summing up his situation. "Well, that's one way of putting it, yes." He drew him in for a tight hug and released him. But he sensed there was something else. "What is it, Abraham?"

"Well, I was thinkin' ... since I am still a kid right now, might as well enjoy it. That's what Lucas says. He's a pretty neat guy, by the way."

 _'Lucas.'_ Henry cringed slightly and braced himself for what was coming next.

"Yes, he is pretty neat," he said with sincerity. But some of his ideas, he felt, were best for the trash heap. "And what, pray tell, did Lucas suggest as a way for you to enjoy this temporary childhood?"

"There's a skatepark not too far from here that he says is sick. I'm stoked that I can land a Tre-flip."

 _'Skate. Park. Sick? Tre. FLIP? Lucas!'_ On their last outing there, he'd nearly had a heart attack when Abe had executed a 20 foot vertical drop from a raised platform onto a steeply banked curve. Never again, he'd promised himself, would he allow his son to put him through that horror.

In the short space of time that his young assistant had spent time with his impressionable son, he'd apparently shared a bit of modern information and slang with him to satisfy his curiosity. Henry was sure that Lucas had meant no harm but the new knowledge had only served to wet Abe's curiosity for more. Henry felt a bit confounded by some of these new slang terms Lucas had taught Abe. And what was he saying now?

" ... see, according to Lucas, I'm not a Goofy 'cause I stand on the board with my left foot forward. That makes me a Regular. And then - " his father cut him off before he could finish.

"Not the skate park, Abraham (But Pops!) Sorry (Aw, gee whiz) OUT of the question." Abe's pleadings were to no avail but they did manage to compromise on a visit to the roller rink and a few more fun outings before Abe Morgan would have to relinquish his youthful resurgence and retake his place in the adult world.

Henry smiled and nodded, agreeing to some of the activities Abe suggested, and rejecting some of the more outlandish ones like Space Camp or a 100-foot vertical drop on a water slide at a Jersey Shore amusement park. He wasn't quite sure, either, which of the activity suggestions were Lucas' and which were Abe's. But whether he liked it or not, this Immortal man born before LaMarcus Adna Thompson had obtained one of the first known patents for design of a roller coaster in 1885, was gearing up for the time of his life with his young son.

vvvv


	10. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 10

The next morning ...

vvvv

The smaller de-aging machine found the previous evening in the basement of Myrna Scoggins' second foster home on 22nd Street and 4th Avenue, now sat in the OCME's large research room reserved for vehicles and machinery. Jo had phoned Henry around 7:00 that morning to let him know that the machine was there and, also, that both Sally and Jeffrey had been found and taken to Children's Hospital. According to their doctors, they were both in good condition, shaking off the effects of fruit juice laced with a berry-flavored version of the over-the-counter sleep aid, ZzzQuil.

At first, Henry had voiced his objections over not having been notified last night, but she'd pointed out that his first priority was taking care of Abe and that she had only been following Lt. Reece's orders not to involve him unless absolutely necessary.

"Of course, I'm going to take care of him, Jo, but you still could have alerted me to these occurrences when they happened. It would have helped to ease my mind a bit," he explained as he clutched a light jacket. It was much too warm today, he felt, for a scarf.

"Henry, Lieu says you are too close to this," she gently but firmly reminded him. "And besides, now that you _are_ up to speed on things, is your mind at ease?"

He let out a loud sigh of frustration. She was right ... as usual. "Certainly, not. My mind's racing a hundred miles a second with all sorts of questions," he confessed. "But I'm on my way." He politely declined her offer of a ride. "We'll take a taxi - be there soon. And thank you, Jo."

"Was that the lady cop on the phone?" Abe asked. "Am I going back to your work with you?" He was dressed in contemporary clothes more befitting a boy of his age. Having grown attached to the burner phone he'd found in the bedroom, he now carried it with him at all times as if clinging to a beacon of future promises. He'd learned very quickly how to operate it, too. As far as anyone could tell, he was a child born in contemporary times. Henry shook his head and marveled at how quickly most children could manage to stay afloat even while their surroundings become muddled.

"Yes, it was; Det. Martinez," Henry replied, hanging up the phone and turning to face his son. "And, yes, you shall accompany me to my place of employment again today."

A sitter was out of the question. He didn't know of any, anyway. It had crossed his mind to ask Mrs. Brambury, the retired schoolteacher who lived across the street, to watch Abe for a few hours but had decided against any outsiders who did not know of his and Abe's peculiar situations. At any rate, he thanked his lucky stars that CPS hadn't sent someone around to check up on them, and that he wouldn't have to enroll him in school. Yet. He hoped never.

He was grateful that, for now, Abe could spend the day in the precinct's Children's Room. A guard was posted just outside the door at all times and the professional staff there, provided excellent supervision for his son. They were literally steps away from each other if anything came up.

Abe had also fallen into a comfortable routine of helping with the younger children by coaxing them to communicate and conducting activities with them such as reading and playing games. Henry smiled to himself, proudly reminded of how well his son had gotten along with his teachers and classmates during his growing years. It was his college years at Berkeley, after his stint in Vietnam, that had brought the rebel out in him, along with an edginess to his personality that, thankfully, had mellowed as he'd grown older.

"We'll pick up some breakfast from the coffee shop around the corner, then head on out," Henry told him as they walked out of their shop and he locked the door.

While waiting in line to order, Henry debated with himself over when he should tell his son about the machine and Sally and Jeffrey. It wasn't a question of if he should tell him, but when. And how would Abe react? He sighed as he paid for their orders and realized that he was going to need help re-introducing a part of his son's nightmare to him.

vvvv

"This thing is awesome," Lucas said for the umpteenth time. And, for the umpteenth time, adjusted the white hazmat suit he wore.

"Yes, Lucas," a similarly-clad Henry replied, rolling his eyes upward. "You've enthusiastically shared your thoughts about this apparatus a number of times already."

"Oh. Sorry, Doc, didn't mean to be so, so ... "

"Fannn-girly?" Henry teased, smirking.

"Okay, okay," Lucas replied, nodding a bit, grinning. "And maybe just a bit jealous," he added, his eyes roaming over the machine again and again. He tentatively reached a finger out toward a bright, red button, then withdrew it when he caught Henry's disapproving frown.

"Jealous because they built it before you did?" Henry asked, smoothing his features out, an eyebrow raised.

"No. Yes. I mean, I coulda built one, too. It would be the centerpiece of my next short filmmaking me famous." He bent his long frame backward and smiling, spread his arms out as if receiving accolades from an imaginary audience.

"Well, for now, your appearance on the Hollywood red carpet will have to be delayed. We've got real work to do here, trying to decipher the notes in both of these journals in order to unlock the workings of the blasted contraption," Henry gruffly replied. Some of the formulations seemed familiar but he was having trouble relating these newer ones to some he'd seen in the late 1930's and early 1940's. _'Concentrate!'_

"Speaking of which," Lucas began, "the pictures I took of this one's Daddy (pointing at the smaller machine) before it was fried - I emailed them to muhself. Just in case."

Henry raised both eyebrows and shrugged, pushing his lips together and turning the corners of his mouth down. "That's ... fine, Lucas." He frowned as he flipped through the smaller machine's journal pages and asked distractedly, "To what end?"

"Just in case someone else with a bigger brain wanted to see it and help us get it to work," he replied.

Henry sighed, only mildly insulted. "Well, I am not totally without _some_ higher education, Lucas." Lifting up the journal, he turned to a page of complicated formulas and almost indecipherable language that accompanied each one.

"It's been a while since I was privy to a project with formulaic language as complicated as this, but as far as I can determine - "

"Wait, uh, you understand some of this?" Lucas asked in amazement.

"A bit," Henry replied, dipping his head. He walked slowly over to the machine with the journal and placed it down on the patient table attached to the conveyor belt. Then turned to face Lucas once again. Lucas happily readied himself for the lecture he knew was coming.

"This machine has MRI-like scanning capabilities because of the magnetic and radio frequency coils. But while an MRI only produces an _image_ of an object or body that passes through it, this machine scans and replicates each atom down to the nucleus." He studied the page then turned it and continued.

"Astonishing," he whispered under his breath. Then he resumed his louder, lecturing tone.

"The nuclei are then bombarded with subatomic particles which are moving with enough energy to enter the nucleus, blow it apart, and make individual subatomic particles hit one another so hard that the subatomic particle itself is blown apart, discovering new quarks, which are elementary particles and fundamental constituents of matter." The lecture was accompanied by his usual plethora of demonstrative hand gestures and facial expressions.

Lucas listened and stared in wide-eyed amazement; his mouth agape, at this Immortal man, his boss, who obviously possessed a storehouse of knowledge yet to be shared or explored.

"Don't tell me. You worked on the Manhattan Project." Lucas waited with anticipatory glee for his reply.

Henry at first frowned then his expression softened into a slight smile. The smile he wore when fond memories danced across his thoughts.

"No, but you're close," he admitted. He could see by the look on Lucas' face, like that of a child waiting for an ice cream cone or another ride on the merry-go-round, that he had to supply the explanation behind his knowledge of atoms and his near-miss from being a part of the Manhattan Project, that had produced the first nuclear weapons during World War II.

"In the early 1940's I was privy to certain ... information regarding Britain's and Canada's Tube Alloys nuclear weapons research programme. It predated the U.S.'s Manhattan Project and was eventually absorbed into it in 1943, when a friend of mine, Niels Henrik David Bohr, fled his native Denmark and joined in the UK's research."

"So ... what kind of information? You were a spy!"

"Lucas," he corrected his assistant, "I was not a spy. I was one of a team of physicians temporarily assigned to examine and care for him and several other scientists who'd fled from the Nazis. Over time, we became friends and ... he shared certain knowledge with me that I'm quite sure he shouldn't have." Henry's wry smile turned into a quietly serious expression and he gazed intently at Lucas.

"And even after all the time that has passed, I was sworn to secrecy. So if I shared with you certain things I learned back then - I'd have to kill you."

A couple of heartbeats later, a wide grin spread across Lucas' face and he waved a dismissive hand at Henry. "Aw, c'mon, you're kidding." Henry turned his serious expression back to the journal and worked to hide a sly smile as he felt Lucas' composure unravel.

"You - you are kidding - right?" When Henry failed to respond and instead continued studying the information in the journal, Lucas said, "Okay. MI6. I get it. Whew!"

Just when he thought he should end his assistant's suffering, Jo, also wearing a white hazmat suit, walked in and joined the two ME's near the machine. The pale tiredness on her face alarmed them both and effectively brought them back to the seriousness of the situation.

"Hey, guys. Any luck on finding out how to operate this thing?" She knew how weary she must look to them. Their concern for her was evident on their faces and greatly appreciated. But she was also the bearer of what she felt was bad news. It worried her how Henry would react and what it might mean for Abe and the other two "kids".

"We're ... getting close, I believe," Henry replied. "Jo, you look like - "

"I know, like 'Death on a Ritz'. Hanson already told me."

"No, I was going to say that you look like you could use a good night's sleep." He pursed his lips and inflated his chest slowly as he inhaled, then quickly let the air out in a rush, guilt written all over his pinched face.

"I appreciate your dedication to wanting to solve this case and all the help you've been for Abe and me, but not at the expense of your own health, Jo."

"Don't worry about me, Henry, I'll be okay," she said, shaking her head and waving her hand at him. She held up a USB memory stick and said, "Present for you. Trina Wood's suicide note."

Confused, he took the memory stick from her. "Suicide? You're certain she killed herself?"

"Found her body floating in the Hudson. She jumped off of the bridge." Her eyes lowered to the stick. "Her purse was found on the bridge and that was inside, in an envelope addressed to me." The light frown lines between her brows had formed while she spoke. "I'm so sorry, Henry, that we couldn't have gotten to her before she decided to take her own life. Guilt, I guess."

"It's not your fault, Jo," he told her, smiling. "None of this is your fault." Henry eyed the stick for a moment, then passed it Lucas. "Did you get a chance to view what's on it?"

"Yeah," she replied. "It's pretty short, mostly Herman Weingarten and her patting each other on the back about what a great scientific advance the machine is, in that it would eliminate the need for organ transplants and prosthetics for amputees. According to what they recorded on there, the machine could also repair brain cells of people diagnosed with mental disorders. That loony, Harvey, is seen in the background operating the machine. Maybe they should have used it on him first."

"And as bad as it looked for Myrna Scoggins, she really had no idea that Lydia, Sally or Jeffrey were anything other than what they appeared to be. She was just grateful that Harvey, in his Deirdre Banks get up, helped falsify Myrna's records so that she could get her foster care license back."

"So, she's only guilty of obtaining a false set of records in order to make a living?" Henry's lopsided grin emerged. "Imagine that, Detective."

"Yeah, imagine that," she scoffed and shook her head. Continuing her information sharing, she added, "Trina's aunt, Marjorie Stanton, however, knew exactly what was going on. She was next in line for a redo after Lydia but changed her mind after Lydia was found murdered. Says she knew nothing about who the murderer was, though; but I'm sure she had a pretty good idea."

"Hm. She's lucky that she wasn't their next murder victim," Henry mused.

"Oh, I'm sure she would have been if Harvey/Deirdre had been able to catch up with her. Between her frequent trips to the bingo hall and her kidney dialysis sessions, thankfully, they conflicted with his duties at CPS and with his scientist/kidnapper duties." Jo rolled her eyes and shook her head at the absurdity of it all. Lastly, she shared that the deranged Weingarten would be of no help to them because he had ranted and raved himself into a catatonic state.

"Brainburn," Lucas muttered, widening his eyes and shuddering.

"According to the psychiatric staff at Bellevue, there's no telling when or if he'll emerge from it." Adam, in his waking coma state, also hospitalized at Bellevue, briefly entered and left Henry's thoughts. There was no time to bother with thoughts of the psychotic, murderous immortal.

Lucas had waited patiently for a pause in their conversation. "Ready?" he asked, finger poised on the computer's mouse.

"Yes, Lucas," Henry replied. "Let's see what's on it. Hopefully, something that will help us learn to operate the bloody thing." After having read both journals from cover to cover, he felt more confident about operating the machine, but not enough to endanger his son or the others. Usually, suicide victims' last words included confessions and/or pertinent information that could be used to bring an investigation to an end.

"Wait," Henry said, raising a finger. "Can you advance this to where Harvey is operating the machine?"

"Sure, Doc," Lucas replied and began scrolling forward.

"He never said anything on this, though, Henry," Jo warned him.

"But if we can mimic his actions ... there!" Henry pointed at the screen. "Slow it down so we can concentrate on his movements."

They watched and instead of seeing Henry become more hopeful, he seemed to become just the opposite.

"This is what you wanted, right?" Jo asked him. "You and Lucas can follow along, shadow his movements."

"Yes, it, it is more than we had." Head bent, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was hoping for a more close-up view with a detailed narrative."

Jo cast a concerned glance at Lucas, who stopped play on the video at her wordless nod. She then took Henry by the arm and gently guided him to the door.

"Pot, Kettle, you working through lunch will do no one any good, Henry. Let's take a break," she said. They exited the room and removed their hazmat suits, depositing them into a provided waste container.

He had to admit he welcomed the break, though. Earlier, he had taken his son to lunch at a nearby park, much like the one they'd often visited when Abe was a child - the first time. But he'd only managed to drink a little juice while Abe had run about and played with the ducks in the pond.

Back in the research room, Lucas started up the video again and studied it as the images progressed before him. "There's gotta be something here," he muttered to himself as he watched, made notes, rewound, fast-forwarded, then shut it down. He walked slowly over to the machine and back to the computer workstation shaking his upper body, arms outstretched as if ready to grasp something, anything.

"C'mon, A-ha Moment, I just know you're fightin' to get outta me, come on, baby!" he growled and shook himself more, hips joining in now. What do mad scientists or any scientist or inventor, for that matter, do when they want to prove their invention or idea really works?

"What do they do? What do they do?" He stroked his chin and the idea finally popped. Not a great one, he admitted, but ... no one was around to stop him. "Sometimes ya just gotta go with your gut," he reminded himself. And he sincerely hoped his idea worked.

He left the research room and abandoned his hazmat suit and gloves into the designated waste bin and made his way out of the building and up to a small pet shop two blocks up. Once inside, he asked the clerk behind the counter where the hamsters were. The disinterested clerk bit into a huge, green apple and silently pointed a finger to the left of Lucas' shoulder.

"Thanks, uh, don't hurt yourself," he murmured as he disparagingly eyed the clerk up and down and then moved over to view the hamsters. Zeroing in on a really cute, chubby one with light brown and white fur, he bent down and smilingly asked, "Hey, buddy, how's it goin'? I see you're goin' nowhere fast in your little Ferris wheel. How about Uncle Lucas send you on a real trip?"

vvvv

Information about the functioning of MRI machines, atoms, and particle acceleration found mostly on Wped and some on Yah Ans.


	11. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 11

_"Sometimes ya just gotta go with your gut," [Lucas] reminded himself. And he sincerely hoped his idea worked._

 _He left the research room and abandoned his hazmat suit and gloves into the designated waste bin and made his way out of the building and up to a small pet shop two blocks up. Once inside, he asked the clerk behind the counter where the hamsters were._

 _"Thanks," he murmured as he then moved over to view the hamsters. Zeroing in on a really cute one, he bent down and asked, "Hey, buddy, how about letting Uncle Lucas send you on a real trip?"_

vvvv

Petra's Deli across the street from the 11th Precinct ...

Jo held her coffee cup with both hands up to her mouth, elbows on the table. She blew on the dark, caffeinated brew to cool it off then took a small sip, then a bigger one since it was not too hot. Smiling slightly, she eyed Henry, gratified that he'd eaten all of his sliced turkey and avocado sandwich along with the small scoop of macaroni salad and bottled water.

He caught her studying him and his empty plate and smiled back at her. "Hungrier than I thought I was." Sighing, he rubbed his fingers across his forehead and confessed, "Lucas was right. I've been a bit distracted lately. Things aren't coming to me quite so clearly as usual."

"We all have been," she agreed, sipping from her coffee cup and placing it back down on the table. "How have you and Abe been holding up?" she asked, concerned.

He sucked in a breath through partially clenched teeth and let it out slowly. His large, brown eyes closed for just a second, blocking the worry in them. Then he pushed the empty plate to the side and clasped his hands in front of him.

"He, uh, asked me last night what would happen if he chose to remain as he is now." His voice was quiet, his words carefully chosen but she could hear the underlying current of doubt in his voice.

"Oh. Wha-what did you tell him?" she stammered, not meaning to. It was apparent that they'd all had their lives upheaved by these recent, strange events, but none more than her immortal friend and his son, de-aged to a child.

He leaned his head to the side, eyebrows raised and slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers, then falteringly lowered them again. "I explained to him ... as best I could ... that it would be working against the laws of nature for him _not_ to return to his original state." Meeting her gaze again, he explained, "Jo, it just wouldn't do for him to risk living a life that demanded he stay hidden from the outside world as I have," he hoarsely whispered, his words leaving him in a rush.

"In his present state, he's too young to really remember why we moved so frequently; why he had to change schools so much; why Daddy had to change jobs every few years." Gripped by a quiet but strong determination, he told her, "No. He's going to submit to the process and regain his normal life - well, as normal as it can be with the likes of me hanging around," he scoffed.

"Henry, I understand your concerns, but it is his life," she quietly volleyed. "He wants to stay like he is so he can have a longer time with you. He's been given an opportunity to hit the restart button and sounds like he wants to take advantage of it."

"Don't you think I've considered that?" the pitch of his voice rising. He struggled to calm himself and continued in a quieter tone.

"Jo, it would please me no end to have my boy back with me and to raise him a second time. But there's no guarantee that he'll begin to age. And if he did, there's no guarantee that he'll even make it to his next birthday, let alone his 70's again."

"No," he said, shaking his head vigorously, "in his present state and state of mind, he's a mere child and cannot be allowed to make that kind of a decision for himself. As his parent, I have to make the decision for him; the best decision that I can, under the circumstances." He emphasized his words by adjusting and re-adjusting his clasped hands and occasionally separating them to make small chopping gestures toward the table top with his right hand.

Jo could tell that he'd agonized over his decision for quite some time. She took in his words and mulled them over for a few moments. "Alright. Alright. He gets re-processed - I don't know what else to call it - but he goes back to being adult Abe. Will he have any memories of this time?"

Heaving another sigh, he eventually replied, "It's hard to tell, Jo. We're facing a lot of unknowns. She nodded in agreement and they sat in silence for several minutes. Henry leaned his head to the side again and quietly observed, "You look a bit more rested now."

"At least a bit more caffeinated," she chuckled. "Not so much something like what the cat dragged in, eh?" she dryly asked.

"Even that could not diminish your beauty." The words had left him before he knew it. For a moment, he waited for the feeling of regret to wash over him, but it didn't. But maybe a little embarrassment was there. He recalled that during one of their earliest cases involving the Aterna Clinic, he'd described her beauty as being empirical. Although, in that moment, it had been said and taken in jest, he'd almost immediately realized how much he'd truly meant it. It wasn't just her physical beauty that enchanted him, it was her strength, her wit and wisdom, her loyalty and devotion to those for whom she cared deeply. Everything that she was.

Ever since their first meeting during the subway crash investigation, she had unknowingly begun to invade his dreams and his waking thoughts. Try as he may, he'd failed to reason his way out of his feelings for her that had grown stronger and stronger as the months had passed. Their working relationship had matured and deepened, allowing them to forge something beyond friendship. But what was it? Not quite love, but ... a feeling of ... falling? Falling in love. At least on his part.

Near the end of the case involving the pugio dagger, she'd hesitantly thanked him for having made her feel again. He could have said the same to her but dared not then and even now because of his condition. Because he knew that a relationship with her would eventually end badly as it had with his beloved Abigail, who'd left him after she'd grown increasingly more uncomfortable as she'd aged into her 60's but he'd miraculously remained 35.

The learned ME inwardly chastised himself, thinking that this was hardly the time for him to be entertaining such selfishly romantic thoughts about his unofficial partner. Especially not now, when his son's fate was so uncertain. And she'd never given him any real indication that she reciprocated his feelings.

Caught off guard by his declaration, Jo blushed and lowered her eyes to her coffee cup, not immediately knowing how to respond or if she should. Their first thoughts, she felt, should be on his son, Abe, and the other two de-aged victims, Sally and Jeffrey. And even though Harvey Weingarten had confessed to the brutal murders of both his twin brother, Herman, and their grandmother, Lydia Andrews, the case still wasn't neatly tied up with a bow because of its direct connection to the three de-aged victims.

But Jo realized that not since the night she'd shown up on Henry's doorstep with her luggage after having decided not to go to Paris with billionaire, Isaac Monroe, had she been forced to really examine her feelings for him. Of course, back then, she'd known nothing about his secret of immortality or the fact that his elderly roommate, Abe, was actually his adopted son. How would she have reacted then, she wondered, if she'd known? Would she still have had trouble meeting the gaze of his amazing eyes? Would her heart still have raced in anticipation of his reaction to her telling him that she'd wanted to get lost in Paris with him instead of Isaac? Would she still have even _wanted_ to go to Paris with him? Would her breath still have caught in her throat from standing so close to him, alone in the darkened shop? She had later regretted that her hand had not reached out to caress his cheek. That her lips had not sought his out. That she had chosen not to speak words to him that her heart still silently nurtured.

"Jo, I ... " He paused and cleared his throat. "Please excuse me. That was very forward of me." He held his breath then released it in a quick puff and licked his lips. His eyes darted back and forth as he searched for what he felt was a more appropriate apology.

"It's, it's alright, Henry," she told him, averting her eyes to her coffee cup. "I like ... hearing things like that from you." She swallowed, and gathering her courage, raised her eyes to meet his, much in the same way she had in the shop the night she'd chosen the handsome ME's company over a trip to Paris with a handsome billionaire. "I'd like hearing more."

Surprised but pleasantly encouraged, he met her shy gaze with one of his own, soft smiles growing along with an awareness of mutual affection.

The server placed the check for their meals on their table face down. When they both instinctively reached for it, their fingers briefly touched, sending a white hot jolt through their fingers and up their arms, triggering a reflex action of them jerking their hands back. Temporarily stunned by the unexpected physical contact, neither could deny how unmistakably pleasant it had been.

Unlike that night in the darkened antiques shop when they'd stared uncertainly at each other, their brown-eyed gazes now openly relayed their longing for each other. They reached out and caressed each other's hands, revelling in the soothing warmth spreading throughout their bodies from the mere touch. They blushed, laughing quietly, as they relaxed their sensuous handshake a bit when two elderly women walked by and chimed a chorus of "Awwww, so sweet" at them.

"We really should be getting back," Jo said, grabbing the check and holding it up and out of his reach. "My treat, I told you." He smiled, settling back in his seat a bit and nodded.

"Besides, poor Lucas anxiously awaits your return so you guys can rev up that machine," she added as she gathered up her purse and began to scoot out of the booth. "Who knows what he'll do if he's left alone with it for too long," she half-joked. Henry didn't immediately respond and she frowned as a look of great alarm overtook his features.

He was staring at Lucas across the street as he entered the precinct with a small, caged animal. He quickly scooted out the booth, stepped around her and marched toward the exit. "What will he do, indeed!" he muttered under his breath.

vvvv

This was going to work, Lucas told himself. It had to work. Once again wearing protective clothing and goggles, he pressed play on the short video that showed Harvey Weingarten working the machine in the background. Harvey's test subject was a fully-grown collie being sent into the chamber only to emerge as a small puppy from the other end. The video abruptly ended right after.

He took a deep breath and after a 3-2-1-0 count, pushed the bright red button that had so intrigued him earlier. He watched excitedly as the conveyor belt slowly guided the restrained and sedated hamster into the machine's circular chamber, now alive with energy and intermittently blinking lights of red, blue, orange and green. The machine, unlike the much larger one destroyed in the warehouse fire, was whisper quiet but gave off more heat than he'd anticipated.

"Oh, please don't cook the little guy," he whimpered. Leaning toward the machine and sniffing a few times, he was relieved to know that his small friend's next bed was not going to be lettuce between two slices of bread.

"Lucas!" Henry's voice, full of indignation, boomed across the room as he burst through the door, causing his young assistant to jump and then grimace. Henry couldn't believe what he was seeing. Such insubordination, he thought, and how dangerous to attempt something like this alone.

"You started this machine without me or my permission? Lucas, really, you ... you ... " His voice trailed off, his alarm melting into fascination as he and Lucas and Jo watched the changes being made to the animal through a small viewing screen on the side of the machine. After the animal was completely inside the chamber, a panel covering the heretofore hidden screen had slowly lifted to allow them to follow along on the animal's journey.

The animal, now reduced to mere particles, some expanding, others retracting in size, danced from partner to partner in counter-clockwise swirlings inside the chamber. The dance that had temporarily stolen the capacity for speech from them, evolved into an almost violent series of microscopic explosions causing a darkness to spread across the view screen. Just when they feared the worst, the darkness retreated and once again revealed the dance of the particles, this time in clockwise swirlings. They somehow appeared to be brighter, fresher, newer - and much smaller in number. However, they were really much smaller in size. The heat from the machine had gradually increased and they'd all taken a few steps back from it. But as the speed and frequency of clockwise swirlings decreased, so did the heat level. Suddenly, a million times faster than the blink of an eye, the particles regrouped and the view screen's panel slowly closed.

Henry mentally compared what he knew about his own vanishings and rejuvenations to this intriguing process of molecular reclassification and renewal. He briefly wondered what similarities the two processes might share.

Lucas had remained closest to the machine, despite the heat, because he was the self-appointed main operator. "Uh ... panel closing ... wasn't prepared for _that_ to happen," he said, quickly adding, "Didn't happen on the video." He shook his head and repeated, "Didn't happen on the video."

"Well, perhaps it ... I mean the last thing we saw," Henry pointedly assured Lucas, "was the animal fully restored." He and Lucas exchanged worried looks. "Right? It was fully restored."

"Yeah, yeah, it was," Lucas agreed, not sure if he was trying to convince himself or Henry more.

Jo watched in dismay as the machine sat silent. She bit her lower lip when she saw the look of hopelessness crumple Henry's face. Then, to their combined joy and surprise, the conveyor belt slowly rolled forward, revealing a baby hamster. But it lay so still, its eyes, closed slits. The machine seemed to sense that its work was done and its frantic activity ceased.

Jo stepped closer to her partner, her ... friend; their shoulders touching as if in solidarity, preparing to withstand the worst together.

Lucas lowered his eyes to the video that had reached the end of play on the laptop and he closed the lid with a dissatisfied huff. Neither he nor Jo could muster up any words for Henry for what now appeared to be a complete failure of the machine's promised results. They each removed their goggles and crept forward for a better look at the still, small animal.

Henry slowly approached the animal, his face twisted with sorrow. Both Jo and Lucas watched helplessly as he bent his head, closed his eyes, and pressed his right fist against his mouth. Would this be the fate of his son and the others if an attempt was made to restore them? Had the machine simply malfunctioned or had it been correctly operated? Lucas spoke first, surprised at his own boldness and confidence.

"We'll keep at it, Henry. We'll find a way. Don't worry." Jo looked over at him and Henry turned around to look at him. Not since Lucas had rendered his professional opinion that Henry's wife, Abigail, had died from a self-inflicted fatal wound, had they seen him more serious. Bolstered by Lucas' confident statements, Jo joined in with her own.

"Yes, Henry. As many times as it takes."

He silently thanked them both with a sad but grateful smile. He opened his mouth to respond and they all heard a small squeak; then another and another. His pliant features changed from frowning to reflect amazement and then joy as he quickly spun around to the source of the squeaks, the young hamster that may have just had its lifespan increased from about two years to maybe four or five.

They all leaned down and peered at the amazing little animal as it squiggled its body and continued to squeak.

"The squeaks are callings to its mother to be fed," Henry said, barely above a whisper. "This one is now only about a month old." He supposed that that amount of de-aging was proportionately accurate based on what must surely be the machine's pre-set controls.

"Awww," Jo and Lucas cooed in unison, prompting them to first grin at each other before turning their attention back to the animal.

"But we're only at the halfway point in our experiment," Lucas soberly reminded them.

"Yes, you're right, Lucas," Henry replied, slightly frowning but still amazed. "We must now determine how to return our little friend to his original age."

The door to the room opened and Assistant ME, Shelondra Prather, appropriately clad in hazmat garb, took a few steps in. "Excuse me, Dr. Morgan, but you have a visitor."

"I'm in the middle of some very important research," he replied, still studying the animal. "Would you be so good as to take their contact information and let them know I'll get back to them?" He almost forgot to smile.

Shelondra appeared uncertain and apologetically explained, "She seems rather upset and insists on speaking with you. Says it an urgent matter regarding your roommate?"

The young assistant had his full attention now. "My ... roommate?" he asked nervously. "What is her name?"

"She said her name is Fawn Mahoney-Ames."

Notes:

Yes. A cliffhanger sort of. Something kept nagging at me that Fawn, after recently reconnecting with Abe, would begin to wonder why he's so suddenly absent from her life again. So she enters the story if for no other reason than to add another layer of anxiety to Henry's already upturned life. Don't worry. He'll survive. :D

Information about hamsters and their average lifespans was found on the Internet.


	12. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 12

_"Excuse me, Dr. Morgan, but you have a visitor," Assistant ME, Shelondra Patterson informed him._

 _"I'm in the middle of some very important research," Henry replied. "Would you be so good as to take their contact information and let them know I'll get back to them?"_

 _Shelondra explained, "She seems rather upset and insists on speaking with you. Says it's an urgent matter regarding your roommate?"_

 _"My ... roommate?" he asked nervously. "What is her name?"_

 _"She said her name is Fawn Mahoney-Ames."_

vvvv

As if the noose of these impossible circumstances wasn't already drawn tightly enough around his neck, Henry lamented to himself. He smoothed his expression to one of calm politeness.

"Thank you ... Shelondra."

However, once Shelondra was out of the research room and had closed the door, he stood and stared at the door for several moments. Sliding his eyes from side to side with his head slightly bowed, he weighed his few options. After several more moments, his gaze returned to the closed door.

In a situation such as this, he'd always been able to rely upon the wizened advice of his son. His adult son, that is. He paced back and forth the length of the machine. He willed Abe's advising voice from the back of his memories. It seemed so long ago to him since he'd heard his gravelly voice full of dry wit and plain thinking even though it had only been less than a week.

What to do, what to do? What sage advice would his son give him? His pacing ceased as he felt more than heard what Abe's words would be; an echo of what Abe had long urged him to do when it came to sharing his secret of immortality with Jo.

 _"Tell her. She's a strong woman. She can be trusted. She'll accept it."_

Sage advice he had refused to take, much to his regret. His stubborn insistence on maintaining a wall of secrecy between his colleagues and himself had placed a noticeable strain on his and Jo's relationship, both on and off the job.

He breathed a silent prayer that he was about to do the right thing and an apology if he was not.

 _'Please forgive me, Abraham, if I'm overstepping my boundaries and jeopardizing your future relationship with Fawn. But in your present state, I, as your parent, feel that I must make the best decision on your behalf. Hopefully, one that you would make for yourself, as well.'_

"It's best that I go speak with her," he quietly announced.

Jo and Lucas, also alarmed to learn that Mrs. Ames was now waiting for Henry in his office, had watched him with growing concern. Apparently, Fawn's curiosity regarding adult Abe's sudden disappearance had now led her to his "young roommate", Henry Morgan, for answers.

Jo didn't know if it was more painful to watch her usually unflappable partner struggle with so much uncertainty, or to know that he'd made a difficult decision, the repercussions of which might make it necessary for him and possibly his son to flee their life in New York. But, decision made, his mind turned immediately back to the task at hand.

"Jo. You must bring Sally and Jeffrey here as soon as possible. Make sure they wear nothing." He stared unblinkingly at her as if confident that he would be met with no argument.

Jo realized that whatever decision he'd made, it seemed to have also calmed him a bit.

"N-nothing?" Lucas asked, not sure if he'd heard correctly.

Jo's mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Finally, she managed, "Why nothing, Henry?"

"They need to be completely naked so as to ensure that only the particles of their own bodies are engaged in the re-aging process."

"So, naked as the day they were born, hmm?" Jo asked teasingly, an eyebrow raised.

"Well," he began, a lopsided grin tugging at his left cheek, "if nothing else, experience has taught us that nakedness is required during rebirths."

She watched him and smiled, then chuckled softly. "Abe still in the Children's Room?"

"Yes," he replied. "How soon will you be able to bring the others here?"

"Well, I believe they're being discharged day after tomorrow. Lt. Reece can help coordinate with CPS so we can bring them here as soon as possible." She shook her head and drew in a breath through slightly clenched teeth. "Poor things. They're so confused being shuttled around by complete strangers to different places when all they want is for Mom and Dad to come get them."

"But Lieu thinks it's best that we don't notify their families that they've been found." She showed a weary, don't-kill-the-messenger expression to Henry. "She feels it's best to hand them back whole, if you know what I mean."

He nodded solemnly as his eyes traveled over the frame of the newly-formed baby hamster.

"Understandable," was all he said. However, another train of thought battled forth, demanding attention; one that said Sally's and Jeffrey's family members should be made aware of their present conditions so that they can decide whether or not to re-age them. Especially given the health problems they'd both temporarily left behind but were most likely to reclaim once returned to their normal states.

He felt like a cheater, knowing the truth and being given free reign to decide one way or the other for his own son. No one outside of his small circle of confidantes had even questioned it when he'd taken custody of young Abe. Then a soft smile began tugging at the corners of his mouth, gradually growing into an open-mouthed, sly grin. He licked the lower inside of his lip and turned to face Jo and Lucas.

"What if we return them to their families truly whole?" He sighed and closed his eyes but still smiling, at their confused frowns.

"Their MPR's contain information about Sally's chronic asthma requiring frequent hospitalizations over the past ten years or so and daily medication for it. And Jeffrey, almost totally blind though only in his mid 60's." His broad smile met theirs as they slowly realized what he was proposing.

"When we zap them again, we make sure none of the bad particles get back into them that had messed them up over the years and just shoot the good stuff to 'em," Lucas theorized with grimaces and confusing hand gestures.

Jo struggled to stifle her laughter at Lucas being Lucas and at Henry's resultant mild irritation.

"Very succinctly put, Lucas," Henry said dryly, side-eyeing him. "But it's how Herman Weingarten and Trina Wood, I believe, originally intended for the machine to be utililzed. Herman's deranged twin, Harvey, altered the machine's capabilities behind their backs." His eyes suddenly enlarged and blinked above his O-shaped mouth. Then he quickly made his way over to the laptop and spreading and shaking his hands at it in frustration, he looked to Lucas for help. Lucas quickly understood his unspoken needs and started the video again. Henry dipped his chin into his chest and chewed on his lower lip while staring intently at the video.

"Trina didn't want us to see Herman and her gloating over their invention, she wanted us to see Harvey in the background, making alterations to the machine!" The video played out again, ending in the collie emerging from the machine as a puppy.

Nodding slightly with a self-satisfied grin, Henry straightened up, squaring his shoulders. "Just as I suspected," he said out loud but mostly to himself. He turned to his totally confused assistant and away from an equally confused Jo and said, "Lucas, we need another hamster; possibly two."

vvvv

The familiar red locks of Fawn Mahoney-Ames greeted Henry as he walked through the morgue and drew closer and closer to his office. He had never really met her, either as a child or as an adult. He'd only seen her from a distance a few times and Abe had proudly shared her photo with him that he carried in his wallet.

Her shoulders appeared tensed as she sat and fidgeted in one of the small chairs he'd borrowed from the break room after some unknown party or parties had "borrowed" his two chairs and had yet to return them. Her posture tensed even more at the sound of his approaching footsteps. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he'd been too hasty in refusing Jo's offer to run interference for him instead.

 _"You mean,_ lie _for me, don't you, Jo?"_

It was one thing for him to pull out carefully concocted answers from his centuries old arsenal of lies in order to guard his secret, but he regretted having put his friends in the same position. All to protect him and his son from the scrutiny of those who may seek to harm them or profit from their peculiar conditions. It had happened to him more than once. He had to admit, though, that the only reason he and his son were still in New York was because they were not facing this crisis alone.

He cautiously stepped past Fawn and turned full face to her as he sat down in his desk chair. He may have appeared calm on the outside, but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. His throat was dry but he hadn't enough spit to swallow. He watched Fawn as she studied him through squinted eyes from under a furrowed brow. She turned her head slowly left then right, then blinked several times, widening her eyes as one fuzzy memory after the other from long ago, sharpened into focus.

"You're ... Dr. Morgan," she breathed out in a whisper.

Henry smiled weakly and hoped it looked more genuine than it felt. "Yes, I - "

"You are ... Dr. Morgan," she breathlessly repeated with a look of growing wonder. Her striking green eyes gazed intently into his. Her slightly labored breathing worried him. The stylish, swan-shaped brooch that clasped her thin, blue shawl to her jacket's left lapel rose and fell rapidly, reflecting the late afternoon sun as it shone through the half-closed window blinds behind Henry.

"Can I get you something to drink? Some water, perhaps?"

She shook her head slowly but he wasn't sure if she was responding to his question or if her emotional state was worsening.

"I remember you," she said in that still breathless whisper.

Recognition. He'd seen it before in the eyes of past acquaintances he'd run into years later when they'd naturally expected to find him either older looking or dead. Astonishment and sometimes fear or an angry demand for answers usually followed. Their off-putting reactions had usually been the catalyst for his decisions to run.

"I've never actually had the pleasure of meeting you, but Abraham holds you in high reg - "

"Earlier today," she interrupted him, "I saw you and a little boy who looked a lot like Abe used to look, in the park not too far from here. Thought I was losing my _mind_ ," she softly laughed. "But then I heard his voice; heard him call you 'Pops'. And his laugh and those dimples. When I heard your voice, that unforgettable accent, and your laughter - it, it was like I was back in fifth grade again at our school's winter carnival."

 _'Ah, yes, the park.'_ A nice, new memory. And that school carnival, he had to admit, was a good old one.

"There were whispered rumors over the years, you know, even after you and your wife suddenly picked up and left with Abe in the middle of the night. I grew up wondering what in the world really happened to the Morgan family? What secrets had they shielded from everyone?"

She now had an almost pleading look on her face. "Dr. Morgan ... just what is going on with you and your family? And where in the world has Abe disappeared to this time? I mean, he hasn't disappeared, has he? That ... little boy ... he, he can't be Abe? I mean ... oh, my." Fawn finally realized the gravity of her words and closed her eyes, placing her hand on her forehead.

"Mrs. Ames," Henry began.

"Fawn," she said, staring at him. "I was that little girl with the red hair who kissed Abe in the malt shop. You were a grown man, his father." She closed her eyes again as if in pain and placed her hand on her forehead again. "Oh, my, oh, my, what ever am I saying?!"

"Fawn, Fawn," Henry said to her in the most calming voice he could muster and reached out across his desk for her hands. "I'll tell you everything. That's why I'm here." He smiled when she put her hands in his and she visibly relaxed enough to quell his concerns for her.

"My story is a long one," he began, "but for now, I'll tell you the shorter one about Abe."

vvvv

Henry related to Fawn, the short but still very complicated story of Abe's abduction and de-aging several days ago by a mad scientist named Harvey Weingarten. He was relieved that it had been easier than he'd anticipated. Since she'd known Abe in grade school and had become familiar with who his parents were and what they had looked like at that time, she had recognized the two of them almost immediately during their time in the park earlier that day.

The widowed redhead, still fit and attractive in her late 60's, Fawn had also managed to dismiss some of the more preposterous rumors that had continued to swirl around the neighborhood regarding the fate of the Morgan family after their sudden departure. But she'd held onto what she'd firmly felt were a few truths:

1) that the Morgan's were good people;

2) that the threat of exposure of a deep, dark secret had caused them to suddenly move away;

3) and that she would one day reconnect with Abe Morgan, her childhood sweetheart, and find out what exactly that secret was.

Naturally, she had only expected to reconnect with an adult Abe - not a child version of himself. Certainly not with either of his parents, who would have been over 100 if still alive. And most certainly not with his father, who looked as though he hadn't aged a day since she'd last seen any of them in 1955!

She wasn't a real drinker, by anyone's standards. A single glass of wine on holidays, her birthday, their wedding anniversary, and at both her son's and daughter's weddings. Two glasses had been enough to celebrate the fall of the Berlin Wall. Three had not been enough to console her after Elvis' death. She'd begged off any spirited drink for days after John F. Kennedy, Jr.'s death; and for weeks after her husband's death.

But she knew where the bottle of rum was that her late husband had kept hidden inside his toolbox in the basement. He thought he'd hidden it but she'd always known it was there. He'd sought solace in that bottle during the last two years of his six-year battle with cancer, before succumbing to the disease. Fawn knew that after hearing Henry's explanation for Abe's disappearance and glossing over the reasons for his own ageless appearance, she was going to have a long talk with that bottle of rum later. Her sanity depended upon it.

Henry leaned back in his chair, his large, brown eyes staring at her, almost willing her to accept the unbelievable facts he'd just shared with her.

So that was it, she thought. Abe's father didn't age. And now Abe, the unwilling subject of a bizarre scientific experiment, was somehow cast backward into childhood with no memories of his life past the age of ten.

That wasn't all of it, she knew, but it was enough to make her laugh to herself at all of the "Most Interesting Person" articles she'd ever read in Reader's Digest. None of the subjects of those accounts could hold a candle to the person sitting right in front of her; and Special Mention to Abe.

"May I see him ... Abe?" she cautiously asked, embarrassed when her voice squeaked. It always squeaked when she was excited - or a bit frightened. Abe used to tease her because of it and had called her Minnie Mouse at times.

Again, the parent in him replied, denying her request. "It would serve no purpose, Fawn," he told her quietly. If he had to choose between her natural curiosity or need for reassurance and his son's well-being, there was no contest.

"His mind is still that of a child's, trapped in the knowledge and awareness of what his life was up until 1955. Technically, he hasn't even reached the age of 11 when the two of you shared that first kiss in the malt shop."

"But ... he knows me." She paused, frowning. "Doesn't he?"

"Not as you presently are, Fawn," Henry replied. "He has been made aware of the truth concerning his condition but I don't think it's wise to push the limits of his coping capabilities. Once he's returned to his normal state, I'm sure that you and he can spend all the time you want to with each other. Until then - "

"Until then," she interrupted him again, "you are going to play the Dad card and protect him." She smiled warmly, nodding slightly. Her own parents had both been protective, loving and doting. It was one of the reasons she had quickly felt a kinship with Abe and had always liked being around his parents. Well, mostly his mother, anyway. And she had loved watching the way they'd interacted with each other.

He smiled back at her and dipped his head, nodding himself. "Whichever way you wish to categorize it, yes. Yes, I am."

"And now you've got work to do, Doctor." Fawn rose from her chair and extended her hand to him. "Don't let me keep you from it."

Henry stood up and grasped her hand with both of his. "Thank you for understanding ... and ... for your acceptance. And thank you for being my son's trusted friend. I've always told him that you're a nice girl."

She giggled and her voice squeaked a bit near the end. Here he was, Abe's father, calling her a "girl" all the while looking no older than her own son. _'Okay, gotta get used to that, I suppose.'_ She made sure that he had her contact information before finally leaving the morgue.

vvvv

Back in the research room, Lucas stared at the video again, hoping to see what Henry had caught on it. Nothing jumped out at him that would warrant an "A-ha" moment. He paused the video and sighed out his frustration. Then he flipped slowly through the pages of the small journal. His brow creased, he suddenly closed it and walked back over to the computer workstation and picked up the journal for the large machine that had been burned to an ashen hulk.

"Maybe Big Daddy has the answers, huh, Junior?" he thoughtfully and playfully addressed the unresponsive smaller machine. "Maybe that was the nice one, not you," he half-whispered to himself as he flipped to a page that looked similar to one in the smaller journal. The page where the formulas and wordings seemed to match the start of the collie's journey through the machine on the video.

"What's different here?" he continued in a half-whisper. So engrossed was he in comparing the information in the two journals that he failed to notice that he was no longer alone in the room.

"Ah, what's different, indeed." Henry's cheery salutation pleasantly surprised Lucas as he spun around to view Henry's equally jovial countenance.

"Lemme guess," Lucas said. "She didn't freak out."

Henry raised his right hand, palm upward and dipped his head, hiding a slight smile. "Quite the contrary," he replied. "I believe the information I shared with her merely confirmed some suspicions she'd already had. Lovely lady."

Two cages sitting side-by-side on a small table, each with an adult hamster in them, caught his eye. "Good work, Lucas. I take it these are our other two 'volunteers'?" He bent down for a closer look at each of them, pulling his lips in and frowning slightly.

"Uh, yeah. Meet Curly and Larry," he proudly announced, motioning grandly towards them.

Henry raised an eyebrow at Lucas then looked over to the baby hamster, sound asleep after having been bottle fed by Uncle Lucas Wahl. He looked at Lucas again while pointing a finger at it. "Moe?"

Lucas' eyes widened and his face lit up into a smile. He patted Henry on the back and in a congratulatory tone said, "Ya got it, Henry! You knew about the Three Stooges!"

"Yes, yes," he hurriedly replied, rolling his eyes. "Let's get started on comparing these two sets of procedures. See if we can help one to work for the other. Oh, and, good work in noticing them in both journals. As an Assistant ME, learning to employ your deductive reasoning skills, you're progressing remarkably well, Lucas." He smiled and dipped his head once, then turned his attention back to the written procedures in the journals.

Lucas' mouth was slightly agape, a more than appreciative look glazing over his face. He watched Henry, now intently studying the journals. "Cool," was all he said.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, "Det. Martinez not coming back?"

Still concentrating on the journals' formulas, he replied, "No. She and Det. Hanson are in a meeting with the Lieutenant. They have their work to do, as do we." He raised both of his eyebrows to Lucas and added, "Let's get started."


	13. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 13

11th Precinct, Lt. Reece's office ...

"Absolutely not!" Reece replied in a heavy whisper. "Kindly inform Dr. Morgan that he will perform whatever procedure is necessary to return Sally, Jeffrey, and his son to their normal states. He is not to play God with that machine or he's off the case." She stood behind her desk with both hands on her hips as she frowned from Jo to Mike. "Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?"

The two detectives stiffened as they both nodded several times and replied almost in unison that she had made herself perfectly clear.

Finally, outside Reece's office, they both exhaled and exchanged a knowing look.

"Better let the Doc know ASAP," Mike whispered to Jo, the most serious expression on his face. "He's probably not gonna like this, but I don't want him removed from the case and replaced with somebody like Washington or that jerk, Phillips, who's just a young Washington-in-training. So tell 'im in a nice way. Butter 'im up."

Jo glared at his last words and stifled a laugh at his earlier, unflattering characterization of their newest troublesome ME, Dr. Kent Phillips.

He stepped closer to her, lowering his voice even more. "Lieu can't be serious, though. We gotta keep all this under wraps."

"I'm sure she means that Lucas would have to wing it alone if Henry doesn't ... behave." She raised a thumb to her partner and turned to walk out of the bullpen toward the elevators.

Mike sighed as he watched her walk away. "Good luck," he muttered under his breath.

vvvv

After a short, but heated discussion, Henry reluctantly agreed to the terms of the Lieutenant's decree.

"No monkey business, Henry," Jo warned him. "She means it. Lucas goes it alone if you try anything." Of course, she didn't know that for sure, but she was sure that no one else would be brought into their inner circle if he disobeyed Reece's orders. When met by just his dark scowl and silence, she said, "Don't shoot the messenger, remember?"

He pursed his lips and released his features from the scowl somewhat. "You're just doing your job, Detective."

Jo opened her mouth then closed it and slowly crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down. Henry's scowl began to melt away and a genuine smile wiped it away completely. He dipped his head slightly and said, "Sorry. You're just doing your job ... Jo." His smile was met with her own.

Lucas released a sigh of relief that the disagreement had been amicably resolved. No way did he wish to take command of this leg of the case. And no way did he want his favorite two people he shipped big time to stumble in what he felt/saw was a budding relationship. He cleared his throat hoping to get their attention.

"Yes, Lucas, I know you're there," Henry replied to his non-verbal request as he broke his gaze with Jo and turned back to the machine.

"So, what do we do now, Boss?"

Henry eyed the baby hamster just beginning to stir while still strapped down on the patient table. "I believe we have been applying a bit too much scrutiny to this whole process. He stepped closer to the machine and eyed the red button that had started the process of converting the adult hamster, Moe, into a baby hamster. His eyes traveled over a row of five square, blue buttons that had lit up one after the other in a left to right direction during the process. The five, square, orange buttons just below them, however, had never lit up the entire time. Their apparent inactivity had matched what he'd seen on the short video that showed Harvey Weingarten operating the machine.

"I believe we have been applying a bit too much scrutiny to this whole process. He stepped closer to the machine and eyed the red button that had started the process of converting the adult hamster, Moe, into a baby hamster. His eyes traveled over a row of five square, blue buttons that had lit up one after the other in a left to right direction during the process. The five, square, orange buttons just below them, however, had never lit up the entire time. Their apparent inactivity had matched what he'd seen on the short video that showed Harvey Weingarten operating the machine.

His gaze was drawn to a circular, white button that flashed brighter every two seconds, then faded. It had not been visible on the video because of the way in which Harvey had been standing by the machine. Turning his head left then right to glance at Lucas and Jo, he stepped back but pointed to the white button.

"That white button should reverse the process," he informed them.

"Yeah?" Lucas asked uncertainly while studying the frozen frame at the end of the video. "How can you tell? It's not in the video," he contended.

"I'm with Lucas, Henry," Jo stated. "I don't see that button, either."

"It is visible, though, on the several images you snapped of the larger machine with your phone, Lucas." Henry tilted his head up a bit at Lucas as he reminded him. Lucas grabbed his phone and brought up the photos. He chuckled and shook his head as he viewed them, then turned his gaze of amazement to Henry.

Jo looked at the frozen video frame and back at the machine. "Harvey's standing in front of it," she said softly. Lucas handed her his phone and she studied the photos then looked at Henry and asked, "That simple, huh?"

"That simple, Det- Jo," he corrected himself, smiling. "A simple reversal of the process." His frowning gaze was now fixed on the baby hamster.

They each placed their protective goggles back on while Henry took in a deep breath and let it out. He pushed the white button and stepped back to stand between Jo and Lucas. The machine whirred to life with its myriad of lights flickering on and off inside the chamber. Henry's tensed breathing calmed as the row of orange lights lit up one after the other, right to left. The baby hamster disappeared inside the chamber as the patient table moved slowly through it and back to its original position.

The dance of the particles was again visible through the viewing screen on the side of the machine, this time in reverse. The small muscles in Henry's face twitched as he pressed his lips together, pushing the lower one out. His lower lip trembled as he waited breathlessly for the reversal process to complete. He could feel the sweat on his palms inside his gloves and attempted to rub them dry against his pants legs. Realizing that it wasn't possible for him to do that while the gloves were on, he resisted the temptation to rip them off.

The temperature around the machine had dropped well below freezing levels, in sharp contrast to the intense heat it had given off during the first process, but had again caused them to retreat slightly from it. The temperature stabilized back to room temperature and finally, the patient table came to rest in its original position on the outside of the machine with the hamster returned to its adult form.

Lucas was the first to react. He moved closer to it and removed its restraints, then gently picked it up and returned it to its cage all the while talking soothingly to it. He turned and beamed a toothy grin at Henry and Jo.

"Looks like we won't need Larry and Curly after all," he happily announced. "Moe appears to be perfectly fine." He turned and bent down to watch the small animal eat and enjoy running in its wheel again. "Aren't you, little guy? Yeah, yeah."

Tears of joy welled up in Jo's eyes and she smiled brightly at Henry. He was in the same shape and they happily embraced, weary but elated from the rollercoaster ride of emotions and events that had led to the apparent success of the second half of the de-aging/re-aging process. They broke their embrace after several moments and turned to look at Lucas, who had been watching them with a sheepish grin. Henry smiled even broader and extended his arm to his young assistant. Lucas eagerly stepped over to them and wrapped his long arms around both of them, joining them in a three-way embrace.

First Jo then Henry managed to get Lucas' attention so he could break the embrace. So they could breathe again. He stepped back, a wide grin still on his face.

"OK, Boss, who's next?"

"Yeah, Henry. Should I go bring Abe down from the Children's Room?" Jo asked.

"No," Henry replied, a rare lightness to his tone. "I promised him that I would take him to an American baseball game. He has never let me forget that he missed the fifth game of the World Series in 1956 because his mother and I had to pull mandatory shifts in the ER. This won't make up for that but, hopefully, it will create a new, happier memory." Even though he realized that there was no guarantee the memory would be retained by his son once he'd regained his adult status.

"He wants to take advantage of his new youth and enjoy as much of it as he can before his conversion." The immortal father was now happy to be able to confidently say that word: conversion. He turned to Lucas and asked if he'd care to join them since his knowledge of American baseball undoubtedly would far exceed his own, therefore - (Lucas cut him off by smothering him with another big hug). After once again prying himself away from his tall, gangly assistant, he then turned to Jo but before he could say anything, she begged off.

"Baseball's not really my game. You three guys enjoy yourself." She winked at them, turned and walked toward the door, then paused. Over her shoulder, she said, "But I love roller skating and amusement parks." She gave him a "yeah-I-know-about-your-kiddie-fun-itinerary" look as Henry smiled back at her and she left the room.

vvvv

Three days later ...

The three young de-aged victims, Sally, Jeffrey and Abe, sat silently in the Children's Room watching a DVD of Disney's "Pinocchio" on the television. A lone social worker also sat quietly and smiled politely whenever their gazes met.

Although young Abe was enjoying the animated feature, his mind occasionally wandered back to the fun activities he and his dad had participated in over the past two days: roller skating in a rink; fishing off the pier; a helicopter ride around the Statue of Liberty; horseback riding in Central Park; a fun day at an amusement park; a trip to the Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC; and catching a homerun ball and getting it autographed at a NY Yankees game. Lucas had assured him that in 2015, that ball would be worth a lot of money because of who the player is and would only grow in value in years to come. Perfect, the boy thought. Fits right in with his antiques business. Well, the one he'd resume taking control of once he was "fixed" back.

A female uni, Officer Beryl Townsend, entered the room and announced to the social worker that she was there for little Sally. The girl, still clutching her Raggedy Ann doll, rose to her feet from the deeply cushioned sofa, shyly waved goodbye to the two boys, and walked out with the officer.

Abe and Jeffrey looked at each other, mildly apprehensive, then silently resumed watching the animated feature.

"You scared?" Jeffrey asked, his wide eyes fixed on the TV screen. Abe nodded, staring straight ahead at the TV.

"Me, too," Jeffrey quietly replied.

Neither boy shared the reasons for their personal fears, instead choosing to mull them over in their own minds. Jeffrey now knew that he would be returned to his 67-year-old body with greatly impaired vision. His wife was dead so that meant he would be living alone with increasingly diminishing eyesight. His frequent but only visitors, a granddaughter named Lisa and a caregiver assigned him by the county.

"What a gyp," he muttered under his breath. Then he thought about this granddaughter of his that he would meet. Lisa. Maybe she was okay. Cared about him since they say she visited him a lot. "Or maybe just waiting for me to die so she can get all my money. That is, if I got any." He heaved a big sigh and hummed along with Jiminy Cricket as he sang "When You Wish upon a Star". If only, Jeffrey forlornly thought.

Abe was having similar thoughts. He'd really enjoyed all the fun activities with Dad and Lucas and Jo and he was grateful that he'd been allowed to have those experiences. But would he remember any of it once he was returned to his 71-year-old body? A body full of wrinkles and thinning hair and lots and lots of aches and pains because old people hurt all over all the time. Didn't they? He wasn't sure but it made sense that they did. Most old people he'd seen always moved so slowly so they must be in pain, right?

But more than that ... if he wasn't going to remember any of the events of the past week, then ... He couldn't even think the words at the end of that thought.

A male uni named Officer George Deidrickson now entered the room and quietly informed the social worker that Jeffrey was to accompany him to the research room. Jeffrey solemnly stood up and turned to hold out his hand to Abe. The two boys shook hands and bid goodbye to each other. As Jeffrey walked away with the officer, Abe called after him, "Hang tough, dude." That brought a slight smile to Jeffrey's face and the officer ushered him out of the room.

Abe was alone now, except for the social worker and the uni guarding the door outside in the hallway. He realized he really didn't care about Pinocchio anymore. A stupid wooden puppet that wanted to be a real boy. According to the story, he would find the Blue Fairy and become a real boy and live happily ever after with Geppetto, the guy who made him. Who cares? Just a dumb made up story anyway. Pinocchio got his wish but ... so why couldn't he get his? Why couldn't he just stay this way with Dad and grow up again?

Abe swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Maybe he was just getting a goofy crying fit like Sally. He was stronger than that. Dad had told him more than once that he was brave, strong, and courageous. So why did he feel like he was gonna burst into tears any minute?

'Cuz I don't wanna go back. I don't wanna go back. I don't wanna go backkkk!'

Pinocchio got what he wanted, why couldn't he? He angrily blinked his tears back and startled when Officer Deidrickson seemed to suddenly reappear in the room, beckoning him to follow him. In young Abe's eyes, the officer may as well have been the Grim Reaper. Defeated, he stood up and followed the officer to the research room.

They exited the elevator the same as they'd ridden it down, in silence. He glanced only once up to the sandy-haired policeman who smiled politely down at him. Abe quickly lowered his eyes because he felt the tears welling up again. Tears of anger and frustration. He barely noticed the elderly couple embracing and kissing (ugh) as they passed each other in the hallway. Until something caught his eye. The woman was holding a doll, a Raggedy Ann doll. What was an old lady like that doing with a - ? He suddenly froze and whirled around to look at the couple, really look at them. The woman's long, blonde hair was mostly white but he recognized the doll and the hairdo and her blue eyes. She looked like this was the happiest day of her life.

"C'mon, son," the officer told him, patting him on the shoulder and guiding him back in the direction of the research room. "Let's not keep your friends waiting." Diedrickson wasn't quite sure what was going on with the kids and Dr. Morgan in the research room but he and his fellow officer, Townsend, were following strict orders to make themselves scarce after escorting each of the three kids to Morgan. Strange goings on, he thought to himself. But things had gotten kinda strange ever since Dr. Morgan showed up in the OCME, he'd heard. Even stranger now that he was part of the crime-solving crew on a regular basis. Ours is not to wonder why, he smirked to himself.

Just as they drew nearer, the door to the room opened and an elderly black man emerged followed closely by a much younger black woman of 19 or 20 years old. The man stepped gingerly along while the younger woman held his arm and guided him past Abe and the policeman. Like the elderly couple before, these two people also seemed elated to be in each other's company. As the young woman clutched his arm, she kissed him soundly on the cheek and gushed his name and how happy she was to have him back. She called him Grandpa Jeff. The old man happily leaned into her kiss and raised his other hand to pat hers as she clutched his arm. He smilingly replied that he was happy to be back with her.

Abe looked again over his shoulder at the two couples as they stood and waited for the elevator. He couldn't believe it. They were Sally and Jeffrey. All put back together again and, and happy. Truly happy. He didn't get it. But there was also something about the way they, Sally and Jeffrey, looked at him. They hadn't acknowledged him as they'd passed by him (of course, Jeffrey couldn't because he was almost totally blind), but now Sally appeared to greet Jeffrey as if she knew him. Abe saw her lean close to Jeffrey and point to him. Smiling, she waved to him and Jeffrey, also smiling, raised his free hand and saluted him. Abe timidly waved back at them as the policeman guided him through the door and into the outer area that led to the core of the room where his father, the lady detective Jo and his friend, Lucas, awaited him. And the infamous de-aging machine.

Abe removed his clothing and shoes and folded them into a neat pile on a short bench near the inner door. He then unfolded the sheet that had been provided him by ... someone ... and wrapped himself in it.

"Ready, kid?" the officer asked him. Abe nodded and the officer knocked on the door. It opened and he nodded and nudged Abe on in. He tipped his hat and turned and left.

Jo walked with Abe over to Henry who met his son's nervous gaze with his own nervous smile. The ME chastised himself and broadened his smile to convey more confidence to his son. The procedure had worked well with the hamster and with both Sally and Jeffrey. He was certain that the procedure would work well for his son, too.

"Hi, Dad," Abe quietly greeted him.

"Abraham," Henry replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess."

Suddenly worried, Henry frowned and bent down to study his son closer. "You're not ill, are you?"

"No, no, Dad, I'm just ... I saw Sally and Jeffrey out there at the elevators. They recognized me." His expression held a bit of wonder and something like relief. "Does that mean I'll remember this time with you?"

Henry didn't want to promise anything but he was fairly certain that Abe would retain his memories of his brief but fantastically unbelievable revisit to childhood. Whether or not the retention would fade over time, remained to be seen.

"Let's just say that there's a fair chance that you will, my boy." He extended his right arm toward the machine and he guided Abe over to it. He took the sheet after Abe had unwrapped it from his body. Henry stretched his arms out to the sides, holding it up to give the boy some privacy as he climbed up and lay down on the patient table with his head near the chamber's exit and his feet near the end of the table.

Henry folded the sheet loosely and draped it over his arm. He stepped over to Abe and bent down to whisper, "You've been so brave through this entire ordeal. I'm proud of you. It'll all be over in a matter of minutes." Eyes glistening, Henry blinked several times and swallowed.

"I love you, son," he managed to say, his whisper now hoarse and thick with emotion.

"Love you, too, Dad." Abe smiled at his father and watched him as he stepped away to poise his finger over the white button. Abe shifted his body slightly into a more comfortable position then, keeping his body straight, as he'd previously been instructed, he added, "See ya on the other side."

Henry paused a second or two, grinning at the boy's last remark. He'd uttered the same thing last year right before he'd plunged himself on a skateboard down a steeply curved embankment at the Skate Park. He emerged from his brief memory fog and pushed the white button. He then took a few steps back to monitor his son's progress through the small viewing window on the side of the machine. The machine's whirrings and blinkings once again mesmerized him along with Jo and Lucas. Abe's body disappeared into the chamber and was immediately reduced to particles that collided in their dance of conversion. The row of square, orange buttons also lit up again in their right to left progression. Henry felt his knees weaken and he stumbled, almost falling backward. But Lucas and Jo each grabbed one of his wrists and placed their other hand under his arm just under his shoulder. He laughed softly, slightly embarrassed at his heightened emotional state. Abraham would surely chide him for being so emotional right now. He wanted them to release him, allow him to regain his dignity but was grateful for their support for he knew that without it, he would definitely crumble to the floor.

The particles regrouped astonishingly quick and the freezing temperatures it emitted returned to room temperature. Abe's elderly, naked form had now emerged from the left side of the machine. Both Sally and Jeffrey had opened their eyes after only a second or two. Henry was thankful for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, indicating a state of slumber, but he was confused and a tad bit worried. Feeling the strength return to his knees once again, he nodded and gently tugged himself away from his friends' grasps. He slowly stepped closer to his once again elderly son, his eyes moving back and forth the length of his slumbering form.

"He, he's asleep, Henry," Lucas gulped out in a weak effort to calm and reassure his immortal friend. "Maybe, uh, tired out from all that fun he's had over the last two days."

"Yes," Henry softly replied, frowning. "Possibly so." He bent over to examine Abe closer.

"You're supposed to be holding up the sheet, Dad, so I can get up from here," Abe's gravelly voice rasped at him through barely moving lips. He popped open one eye then the other and glared at his father, who doubled over in laughter.

"Right, right, sorry," Henry replied through the end of his laughter. Calming himself but smiling broadly, his outstretched arms held the sheet up to give Abe the privacy he needed as he sat up on the patient table and swiveled his body around to place his feet on the floor.

"Brrrr, freezing," he said, hugging himself and motioning for Henry to come closer with the sheet. Abe turned his back to Henry, who placed the sheet around him. Abe grabbed it from him and brought the edges together and turned around to face them again. He was met with his father's mock scowl and Jo's and Lucas' broad grins behind Henry.

Abe lowered his head but his gaze locked with Henry's and a mischievous smile crept over his lips. "Hope I didn't scare you too much, Pops, but I just couldn't resist."

The two men burst into laughter and Henry stepped closer, wrapping his son in a warm bear hug. They stood like that for several moments, basking in their new ability to greet and treat each other in front of others as they truly were, without fear of reprisal. As their laughter faded and their expressions softened, the floodgates finally opened for Henry. He sobbed softly at first, then louder as his back tensed and his shoulders shook.

Abe's eyes were closed as he happily melted into the embrace of the man who had loved him and raised him as his own son. He would be forever grateful that their paths had crossed back in 1945. He willingly allowed his father to release his pent up anxieties over him in the form of joyful tears. Truth be told, he had a few of his own to shed, but he was holding back on them until later. This was Dad's time.

"I'm okay now, Pops," Abe quietly assured him, his eyes still closed. "Everything's right again."

Henry finally pulled away from him and took a few minutes to gather his emotions. "It's so good to have you back, Abraham," he told him, smiling.

Deep sobs emanated from behind Henry to his right.

His eyes still closed, Abe said, "You can stop crying now, Dad, I'm okay."

Henry slowly looked over his right shoulder to see a half-worried, half-amused Jo attempting to comfort Lucas, reduced to a bucket of tears at the sight of their emotional reunion. Fighting a smile and his eyebrows raised and knitted, he slowly turned back to face Abe, whose eyes popped open at the sound of another deep sob. Henry shook his head slightly at Abe and directed his gaze back over his shoulder at Lucas.

Abe grimaced and wordlessly exited the room to don the adult clothing Henry had placed on the bench just outside the room.

Henry stiffly walked over to join Jo in a tandem effort to calm Lucas.

"It's so beautiful," he sobbed, wiping tears off his face with both hands. "You guys ... aghh! ... just so beautiful," he continued, while Jo and Henry both grimaced but eventually gave in to their laughter. "I mean, father ... son ... ," he blubbered. He raised his tear-stained face to look at both of them.

"As, as beautiful as the two of you are together," he crumbled again as a new onslaught of tears rolled down his cheeks. "But you, Henry, and, and Abe?" He continued to blubber into his hands. "So touching and just ... so beautiful."


	14. Stopped Clock - Alternate Facts Ch 14

Lt. Joanna Reece sat behind her desk, having just ended a short conversation with Det. Jo Martinez. All three de-aged victims, including the son of their devoted ME, Dr. Henry Morgan, had been safely returned to their normal states and were now happily reunited with their loved ones. She closed her eyes and winced as she rolled her shoulders back a few times in an effort to untighten their muscles and those of her neck. The weary law enforcer then picked up the receiver of her desk phone and proceeded to make a call.

"Great work, you guys," she softly murmured to herself through a smile as she dialed her superior's number to inform him that the case of the one murdered and two missing elderly residents from the East 65th Street highrise was put to bed. Which is where she intended to go as soon as she could after she got home, she promised herself.

"Thank you, Captain Stein," she said. "But the real work was done by my two detectives, Jo Martinez and Mike Hanson. Our two ME's, Henry Morgan and Lucas Wahl, also helped tremendously." She listened to his exuberant response and nodded, smiling. "Yes, Sir. I'll be sure to let them all know - oh, those machines and the three children?" Reece swallowed and replied with something that was a little less than a lie.

"The large one in the warehouse was completely destroyed. We can only guess that it was some kind of homegrown atom smasher. The second one found in the basement of Myrna Scoggins' foster home has been determined to be just a smaller version." She merely chuckled when he referred to the machines' inventors as zanies and when he wondered out loud what their intentions had been.

"And, to answer your question about those three children," she continued, "well, turns out they had been caught ditching school and had concocted an elaborate scheme in order to avoid punishment. They're back with their families now." At least that last statement was the truth. She chuckled again, less mirthfully, this time, at his response and surprised herself at how easily and quickly the falsehoods fell from her lips. If these few lies were churning her stomach, she could only imagine how Henry must have felt after a couple of centuries of spewing them out. Conversation ended, she hung up the phone and sighed.

It was hard for her not to have gotten caught up in Henry's suggestion that the machine also be used as Herman Weingarten and Trina Wood had intended: as a tool to eradicate unhealthy parts of a person's anatomy and replace them with new, healthy parts. Although excited at the prospect of sending the three elderly folks back to their families suddenly healthy and whole, she realized that it would have raised too many questions by the families and would threaten to unveil the shroud of secrecy surrounding Dr. Morgan and his elderly son, Abraham. No. She had made the right decision. Barring some other miracle cure yet to be discovered by someone else in another part of the medical community, Sally, Jeffrey and Abe would have to live their lives out like everyone else did. Well, almost everyone. She wondered if she would ever get used to the fact that their eccentric ME, Dr. Henry Morgan, was immortal and would probably outlive everyone else alive today.

Joanna rose and gathered her purse and jacket, checked to make sure she had her car keys and cell phone, patted her gun and badge, and left her office with nothing but getting home on her mind. Home to boring cable TV shows, leftover meatloaf, a BIG drink, and a long, warm bath. And to normalcy.

While waiting for the elevator, her thoughts turned to Myrna Scoggins, the woman who had run the two foster care homes. She had mixed feelings about the level of justice meted out to the woman. A fine and suspended sentence was all she'd faced because it couldn't be proven that she knew that Deirdre Banks was really a criminally insane man named Harvey Weingarten, who used her as a pawn in his bombastic scheme to turn elderly people back into children. According to what she had shared with Jo and Mike, she had been psychologically manipulated by the dimunitive Weingarten masquerading as Banks, and that's the only reason she had agreed to move Lydia Andrews' body to another location in an effort to help cover up the slaying. Because of her age and frailness, she had been allowed to plead to the lesser charge of running an unlicensed foster home with the proviso that she never engage in the practice again.

That left Margaret Stanton, Trina Wood's aging aunt, who knew of Weingarten's de-aging scheme and had eagerly awaited her turn, but had backed out after Lydia's murder. Whether or not she knew that Weingarten had murdered Lydia, would probably never be known. She'd slipped into a state of delirium and was now in hospice care in the final stages of kidney failure. It had been impossible to even inform her that her niece had taken her own life.

As she stepped into the elevator, the doors closed and she leaned her head back against the wall behind her. She silently thanked God that she could still look forward to some normalcy in her life.

vvvv

The rooftop of Abe's Antiques, the next evening ...

The laughter and light after-dinner conversation of Henry and Abe, and their two very special guests, Jo and Fawn, rose and fell comfortably around the candel-lit dinner table. They'd enjoyed Abe's expertly-prepared meal (with Fawn's assistance) of coq au vin with all the trimmings. It hadn't taken Abe long to get back into the swing of things after regaining his adult status. He'd grumbled about having to restock the kitchen with groceries, to which Henry'd taken no offense. It was just his son's way of taking control of his life again. Fawn had happily accompanied him on his grocery shopping errands and had insisted upon helping him prepare the night's meal.

Abe was the first to rise from the table, gathering up the dinner dishes and Fawn rose to help him, following him downstairs to the kitchen.

"Are you bringing back any dessert, Abraham?" Henry asked.

"Nope," he said as he descended the stairs. "Fawn and I have a late engagement somewhere else," he added. "Dessert's in the fridge." Fawn playfully shrugged, smiled, and waved good-bye to them as she descended after him.

Henry turned a surprised and amused face to Jo, then called over his shoulder, "Have a nice evening, you two." Jo bid her good-byes and thanked them for the lovely meal in a raised voice, as well. Henry and Jo smiled at each other as the older couple's farewells drifted back up the stairs to them.

They suddenly found themselves alone and sat in silent, comfortable companionship for several minutes. They warmly met each other's gaze while memories of their conversation and hand-holding during lunch in the deli a few days ago played over in their minds. Jo broke the silence first.

"I wonder what kind of dessert Abe has stashed in the fridge for us?"

"He didn't tell me, just that it was a surprise." He rose from his chair and stepped over to pull Jo's out for her so that she could also stand up. "Let's go find out, shall we?" She grinned and nodded, following her ever-so-much the gentleman downstairs into the kitchen.

Henry opened the fridge's door and at first marvelled at what he saw, then his face broke out into a wide grin. He looked over his shoulder at Jo, whose reaction mirrored his. Abe had left him two blueberry scones nestled on a cloth napkin in a wicker basket. The first was one of regular size, the second, a miniature of the first. He reached in and pulled the basket out and set it down onto the kitchen island while Jo closed the fridge door. She grabbed a couple of forks from the drawer and dessert plates from the cupboard. He gently lifted them out of the basket and placed them onto the plates and they each picked up a fork.

Jo ate the miniature in short order and then part of Henry's. As they huddled over their plates and ate, they couldn't help shaking their heads in wonder at the perfect and delicious desserts and at Abe's continually surprising ingenuity.

"Were you aware that he was cooking this up?" Jo asked, forking up her last bite.

"No idea at all," Henry chuckled. "He must have prepared them in Fawn's kitchen."

"He's really sweet," she said. Henry nodded proudly in agreement. She watched him drift off into what appeared to be a nice memory.

"Little late to ask but ... any regrets?"

He understood the fullness of her question; and tilting his head to the side, replied, "No." He looked at her with a whimsical expression and added, "Just ... feeling a bit nostalgic and ... still in awe of the whole thing, this, this de-aging and re-aging phenomenon." He shook his head and widened his eyes briefly.

"Now we're back to just ... one phenomenon to deal with," she said.

His smile faded and he grunted, lowering his eyes. "Yes. There's always that, isn't there?"

Jo reached over and covered his hand with hers, a concerned look on her face.

"Henry, to me, it's just part of who you are." She straightened up and stepped closer to him, placing her hands on his shoulders and twisting him up to face her. He gladly placed his large hands on either side of her small waist and pulled her closer to him.

"I know you would love to rid yourself of your immortality," she told him, her gaze shifting back and forth between his eyes. Her slender hands had now slid up his arms and cradled his face, her fingers playing gently in his hair's soft curls. "But I'll take you with or without it." Her smile returned as did his.

He pulled her closer, encircling his arms possessively around her waist, placing a murmured sigh in her ear about how lucky he was to have her in his life. He then kissed her. She melted into his arms, trembling under the heat of his touch. Their lips met in a soft, first kiss that gradually revealed their smoldering desire for each other. But it wasn't frantic or desperate, but comfortable, sweet, nice and warm. And it felt so right to finally be in each other's arms. They both had waged their own secret battle against letting the other in and they had both gladly surrendered.

vvvv

"You four are quite the team." Lt. Reece practically glowed as she complimented her two detectives and the two ME's. "My captain passed the word up the line all the way to the Mayor's office about your hard work on the elderly victims abducted from the East 65th Street retirement highrise. Word is that even the Governor wanted to be kept aprised of the situation because of that ... " she spread her hands and let them fall back onto her desk in front of her) " ... machine."

Henry gave her a surprised look then lowered his eyes and pursed his lips, frowning. Jo eyed him anxiously, totally understanding his concerns over having anyone outside their small circle taking too close a look at the bizarre situation they had recently dealt with. And were still dealing with since his condition remained a constant.

"Relax, Henry," Reece assured him. "Only the most pertinent information has been shared with anyone outside our little ... group." She leaned forward a bit toward him. "Your secret is safe."

He smiled weakly at her and nodded uncertainly. His smile quickly faded and he cleared his throat. "What, uh, happened to the machine?" He wished he knew the exact name its inventors had dubbed it. "It's no longer in the research lab."

"I had it boxed up and moved into one of our NYPD warehouses," Reece replied matter-of-factly.

Henry's brow knitted. "Isn't that taking quite a chance? I mean what if someone should discover it and ... tamper with it?" He squinted at Reece "I would have thought that you would have preferred it to be destroyed just as the other one had been."

The Lieutenant straightened back up and sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're right. I would. But ... who knows? It may be of some real use for something or someone, someday. And what, exactly, is the name of it, anyway?"

"It is a Magnetic Atom Rearranger," Lucas announced, bowing slightly. He then held up a comic book. "Soul Slasher comics, Issue 41." He stepped forward and handed it to Lt. Reece, who looked at the cover that depicted a mad scientist taking great delight in a frightened woman strapped to the patient table that fed into a machine not unlike the ones connected to the murder/de-aging case. She frowned, vocalizing her disgust and then handed it back to him.

"Dr. Derango," (prounounced dee-rain-jo) he said, reading the cover. "Was ... one of my favorite issues," he added, with a bit of melancholy.

Mike, Henry and Jo managed to control their laughter.

"How is your son doing, Dr. Morgan?" Reece asked, the concern in her voice just as evident as before when she'd asked about the then young Abe.

"He's adjusting well, Lieutenant, thank you," Henry gratefully replied. "Back to his old curmudgeonly self."

"His lovable curmudgeonly self," Jo insisted, smiling at him.

"I'm tellin' ya, Doc, if that had happened to one of my kids," Mike said, shaking his head, "I don't know what I would have done."

Henry eyed him for a few seconds, then said, "You would have found a way to help them, Mike. I'm sure you're a great father and a great detective," he added. "And you would have had us ... your friends, to help you." His misty eyes roamed over the small group of colleagues he now also counted as friends. "Just as I did."

"I'll bet that besides this, you and Abe have been through quite a bit together," Mike speculated.

"Yes, we have. Quite a bit," he quietly replied and fought back the flood of memories, good and bad, in order to stay focused on the here and now.

"Well," Reece began her familiar declaration, "let's get back to work. I understand we have a fresh body and several open cases to keep us all busy."

The foursome nodded and filed out of Reece's office and walked determinedly toward the elevator with thoughts of getting to the new crime scene as quick as possible. After first making sure that no one outside their circle was within earshot, Henry whispered to Lucas that he knew about Abe's and his plan to meet up at the Skate Park.

"Um, uh, well, it's like this, Boss," Lucas stammered out as he punched the down button again, desperate now for the elevator to arrive.

"I'm aware that you and he have forged a closer friendship but I strictly forbid him going to the Skate Park. He and I have been through this before and it nearly gave me a heart attack." Henry kept his voice down but it shuddered with fear at the harrowing memory.

"Well, he's a natural, Doc," Lucas excitedly replied without thinking. "You should have seen him yesterday when we went there after work - " He suddenly realized that that was definitely the wrong thing to say. Henry's eyes widened, his mouth formed a silent O and he paled something awful.

"That's where he disappeared to," Henry hissed through clenched teeth. He pursed his lips and leveled a reproachful look at Lucas from under his furrowed brow.

"Ya know, I can make better time taking the stairs," Lucas blurted out, holding his hands up in a defensive posture. He raced toward the stairway door, opened it and disappeared into the stairwell.

"Lucas. Lucas!" Henry yelled after him. He balked when Jo and Mike grabbed an arm each to pull him back. The elevator finally arrived and they nudged him into it and tried their best to calm him. As they rode the elevator down, Henry pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"Now I have two mischievous rapscallions to deal with," he hissed again.

Jo and Mike exchanged uncomfortable looks, at a loss for words but sympathizing greatly with their immortal friend and his new worry over his son.

He washed his hand down over his face and sighed, shaking his head. "He'll break his hip," he said with quiet resignation. He then met the gazes of his two colleagues and wearily declared, "That boy will be the death of me yet!"


End file.
